


Prized Possessions

by Alice_In_The_Sky



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: AU, Bits of alchohol, Complete, Escort, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm not sure what happened!, M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Please Don't Kill Me, Posting before I regret it, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, mentions of sex but nothing really happened, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_In_The_Sky/pseuds/Alice_In_The_Sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe</p><p>"I shall confess." Sycamore began. "I was bored. My friend Ascot here said if I wanted amusement I should come here and here I am."</p><p>He leaned back, an arm on the armrest, absently drawing circles on the velveteen covers. "And what, pray tell, kind of amusement are you searching for?" </p><p>Sycamore grinned, white teeth showing. "Anything and everything you can provide, of course."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. Accidentally posted this last night before I finished editing it. The one in my drafts was outdated and missing a paragraph. This is an AU that's been at the back of my head for the past few weeks. Posting it before before I have time to think about it. XDD I hope this is alright. The bit about Descole and Layton at the end of Azran Legacy doesn't apply here so they can pretty much do whatever they want... (Or rather I can do whatever I want with them.)
> 
> Thank you for reading.

He was highly prized. The moment he set foot into the ballroom, all manner of conversation ceased. The music stopped and everyone turned their attention to him. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips and tipped his hat at the many guests of that gathering, all dressed to the nines. The host of the party greeted him, enthusiastically and told him how happy they were that he accepted their invitation. It was not a party without him, they said. He thanked them, graciously and allowed himself to be led onward. The men bowed and the ladies curtsied as he passed, his footsteps echoed as all eyes turned to him. His usual settee waited for him at the end of the room, by the tall glass windows. And when he sat on the red velvet cushions, so too did the music return and the conversations began anew.

Some groups of guests walked toward him and paid their respects. Right then, he was a king though he was far from it in truth. This world was all a fantasy.

And so was he.

"Who is that?" One of the newer guests asked his friend.

His friend, a red-haired man in a white suit, turned to look who he was referring to. And when he was nudged again, he realized who it was and grinned, all white teeth showing.

"Like what you see?" He asked.

The other man scowled and pushed his red bow-lined glasses with his fingers. "Hardly, Ascot." He remarked. "I asked because everyone seems to know him even with the mask on."

Ascot's grin didn't leave his face.

"That," He began. "is Ghishavel. The most highly sought-after escort in these parts."

"Escort?" He scoffed. "Then he's here to turn some tricks then?" Then under his breath. "I didn't think this was such an establishment..."

Ascot laughed at him, putting an arm heavily around his shoulders.

"Desmond, have some faith in me." He said. "This isn't that kind of place. Ghishavel is special. He's actually invited here. Whenever there's a gathering like this, if people heard he was going to be there, they'd show up. Just for the chance to have a chat with him."

Sycamore turned to the small group of people that gathered around the mysterious man. The man wore red, from his top hat to his suit. Black gloves adorned his hands and black leather shoes in his feet. The only other colour on his clothes was the white shirt and the half mask he wore. He seemed... Refined, poised. And Sycamore was starting to hate that. It reminded him of someone else although he would definitely throw a fit if that man ever did something like that.

"Where did he come from?"

Ascot shrugged. "No one knows." He replied. "One day he showed up and then somehow he's charmed several socialites and everyone of note." He threw his hand up. "Hells, he charmed one of Sir Belduke's sons and everyone knows they're stone cold." He stopped. "He doesn't always leave with someone though. And from what it looks like, he doesn't do this for the money. Though there's no shortage of admirers giving him lavish gifts."

Sycamore turned and saw the host of the party handing Ghishavel a velvet box that contained, possibly jewelry which the other smiled and tried to decline it seems but, the host was insistent and Ghishavel gave in, graciously accepted the gift. It made the host blush. From where they were it was hard to hear what they was talking about but seemed to be quite animated on the other guests' part.

Sycamore took a sip out of his wine. "Is he looking to marry into high society then?" He asked, intrigued. Status and power were appealing things if one was looking to climb the social ladder after all. "Or to become someone's kept man? I'm assuming he goes with both men and women."

Ascot shrugged. "I'm not certain." He replied. "Money and influence... They're all well and good but if that's the case, then why not make obtaining his services easier?"

Sycamore raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Ascot scratched his head. "Look, it's not easy to get him to become your companion, even for just a night." He explained. "He has different standards."

Sycamore frowned, interest piqued. "How then?" When Ascot gave him a confused look, he huffed. "How does he choose his lover for the night then?"

Ascot grinned, white teeth showed that reminded Sycamore of a shark for a moment.

"Through puzzles." He replied, cheerfully. "If you can answer him correctly, he'll be yours for the night. Whether you want his company as just a friend to keep you from being bored or want to make a splash at the party or as a lover." He paused and took a drink from his glass. "People say he's quite skilled." he added.

There was a bit of blush at the words and Sycamore grinned slyly and leaned closer to peer at his friend.

"And you know this... How?" He asked. "Is there something you're not telling me, Randall Ascot?"

Ascot sputtered and almost choked on his wine. The other man didn't offer any help though and just chuckled at the younger man's antics, shaking his head.

"Will wonders ever cease?" He said to no one in particular. "And here I was thinking you were pretty straight."

Ascot's face turned a tad bit redder at the comment and threw a fist at him but the other man dodged it, easily, laughing while Randall tried to deny it. There was perhaps some surprise. He knew Randall was engaged to Angela and he'd always thought that he wouldn't look at anyone else since they were so in love. So in love in fact, that the whole university thought it was a bit sickening sometimes how sweet they were to each other.

"Heaven help me, Desmond Sycamore. If you don't stop, I will seriously injure your sorry hide." 

Sycamore click his tongue and wagged a finger at him. "Such violence." He teased. "Unbecoming of a gentleman."

The redhead folded his arms on his chest. "Hershel's the gentleman, not me." He retorted. "I'd beat you in fencing any day!"

The other man shook his head. "Truly? You have yet to win." He mocked.

"Arg!! It's not like that, alright?" He began, exasperated. "I did win his services. But I never slept with him!!" He hastily added before the teasing began anew. "It was an accident really."

He was not convinced. 

"I... answered his puzzle without knowing what it would bring about. And when everyone told me what I did, I was, of course, surprised. Angela looked like she was going to kill me but Ghishavel was gracious enough to tell us that he could just accompany us. Angela was suspicious but warmed up to him after a while." He shrugged.

When he saw the look that Sycamore was gave him, he scowled at his friend.

"He's surprisingly intelligent. Very charming too. I can see why people flocked to him the way they do. He's... a novelty and I must admit, quite refreshing among the babble and gossip that's usually here in these kinds of gatherings. Not to mention, his puzzles can be quite tricky sometimes."

Sycamore raised an eyebrow. "And why did you bring me here?"

Ascot looked at him as if that reason should have been obvious. "You said you've been bored. I thought this would amuse you."

Sycamore's frown returned. While he appreciated what Ascot was trying to do, he didn't like where this was going and told him so. But Ascot in his usual carefree way merely laughed at his face.

"Hey, I wasn't the one complaining about how boring it was to be back from a dig. Not to mention you've been making eyes at Hershel-" Here Sycamore almost chocked on his drink. "-and I thought maybe I can distract you from your pining with this. Maybe if you practice flirting with Ghishavel, you can finally snag Hershel."

Sycamore wanted to hit him. But Ascot continued.

"Plus, I wanted to see how he'd measure up against you." Ascot confessed. "I want to see how good he is. I know you're good. You're as good a puzzle master as Hershel is." And quietly muttered. "Even though back in our school days he absolutely had no interest in puzzles and archaeology..." Ascot shrugged smiling fondly. "Now he's one of the greats!"

Sycamore scowled again. "So you want me to solve one of his puzzles and win him, is that correct?" When Ascot nodded, Sycamore sighed, tiredly. Once Ascot had an idea in his head he won't stop until you give in. "I'm not too sure I like this..."

Ascot grinned and patted his shoulder. "Come on. I'll introduce you." He paused. "Besides, if you manage, maybe you'll have enough courage to finally ask my best friend out!"

Sycamore shook his head.

Courage was not the problem.

 

* * *

 

He didn't have any choice on the matter.

Ascot dragged him toward where Ghishavel sat. There was certain sort of irony at the name the escort chose. 'Secret Treasure' in the Azran language. He scoffed, he suspected the man probably picked up a random archaeology book, pointed and took whatever word that sounded nice. He didn't know whether to be irritated or not. It was arrogance after all. and Sycamore felt a growing displeasure at the whole thing. He decided that he'll probably not like him.

As soon as Ghishavel saw them, he beckoned them closer. The group surrounding them parted to let them through. Sycamore's eyes grew wider at the sight. He was more impressive up close. Sitting upon the red velvet cushions was a man that for a moment reminded him of someone else. But he knew the man he remembered would not sit in the middle of a party the same way as this man did.  

Ghishavel stood when they approached, an easy smile on his lips that was almost coy. Despite, the half face mask, Sycamore knew that there was something... off about the man. Impressive, but he could not help but feel some sort of unease. He schooled his face to a more neutral expression though that small quirk on the masked man's lips hinted that he had seen.

"Master Ascot. It's good to see you again." Ghishavel greeted, tilted his hat. "After last time, I thought I've frightened you away."

Ascot laughed awkwardly. "Nope. I think I managed pretty well." He replied.

There was a funny story there, Sycamore just knew. But he might have to ask Angela for the details later.

"Of course." Ghishavel conceded. "How have you been? Quite well I hope?"

"Quite." Ascot replied easily. "May I introduce my friend-"

"Jean Descole at your service." Sycamore interrupted with a roguish smile.

Ascot blinked but other than that did not attempt to correct the name. For Sycamore, it was the first name that popped into his head. A name from one of the novels that he had read as a child. Ghishavel offered a hand to shake. Sycamore stepped forward, took Ghishavel's offered hand and kissed it. A blush dusted Ghishavel's cheeks that surprised everyone. Sycamore even more so. He had never met someone of that profession still able to blush at something so simple as a kiss at the back of his hand.

 _Hmm... No wonder he is prized._  He thought. It was quite rare, indeed.

"Ghishavel at yours." The other replied. "Welcome, Master Descole."

Sycamore straightened up but did not let go of the other man's hand yet. He felt the warmth despite the gloves he wore.

"Please, just Descole. I get enough of that at home."

There was a pause and for some reason that made Ghishavel laugh. It was a lovely laugh, full of delight that made Ghishavel's face flush even redder that did not have anything to do with wine. The other guests turned to Sycamore with something akin to wonder. Ascot himself was even more surprised. From how it looked Ghishavel did not laugh like that so often.

 _If he pulled moves like that on 'him'._ Ascot thought, smirking.  _Maybe he'd actually get somewhere._

"Jean Descole, you seem to be a man full of surprises." Ghishavel remarked, shaking his head. "Well now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He sat back down offering a seat to Ascot and Sycamore.

Sycamore sat on the settee in the other end where Ghishavel did. It was unheard of from how the other guests around them murmured behind hands and fans, disapprovingly. To them it might be an insult. He ignored it, of course, perfectly at ease. Besides, Ghishavel did not seem to mind so why should he. He took a glass of wine from a passing waiter and peered at Ghishavel from the glass he held. The other man crossed his legs, casually and seemed to watch him. Though he wasn't sure what sort of look the man in red had. 

As for the question, perhaps he should tell the truth. Or a slightly modified version of it.

"I shall confess." Sycamore began. "I was bored. My friend Ascot here said if I wanted amusement I should come here and here I am."

Ghishavel leaned back, an arm on the armrest, absently drawing circles on the velveteen covers. "And what, pray tell, kind of amusement are you searching for?" 

Sycamore grinned, white teeth showing. "Anything and everything you can provide, of course."

"I see..." Ghishavel smiled that fox-like grin. "You are a very interesting fellow, Jean Descole." He remarked.

"In a good way, one hopes."

"In a very, very good way." Ghishavel agreed, nodding his head.

The smile had not left the man's lips. Sycamore could feel the heat in that man's gaze despite the mask that covered his face. He was once again reminded of the gentleman that had caught his attention at Gressenheller. But that man would never sit so close or smile in such a flirtatious way. Ghishavel was more alive, more forward. And Sycamore was not sure if he liked it or not.

 _Interesting..._  He thought. He expected to find rubbish, but found treasure instead. Did he know his worth then?

Ghishavel leaned close to him. Close enough that Sycamore could smell that man's perfume. Perhaps it was the wine but he thought it was absolutely intoxicating. He wanted to kiss that man and when he told him so, Ghishavel smiled but placed a finger on his lips instead. Sycamore nipped it, playfully once and withdrew.

"There are rules in this game, Master Descole." He said cheerfully and sat back properly. "Are you prepared to play this game?

"Will I like this game?"

"Perhaps."

"Then tell me."

Ghishavel nodded.

"Within this building, is a fantasy world." He began. "I will be anything and everything you so desire. Brother, husband, friend or lover. Whichever it is you choose me to be." He explained with a smile.

Sycamore took another sip from his wine.

"Master Ascot has probably told you that I choose who I accompany by puzzles. First rule: if you solve it, I will be yours for the night. I will treat you as you wish to be treated, like a king if you desire, or a pet if that is what you crave. Your wish is my command."

Sycamore did not want to be treated like a pet. That wasn't his kink.

"Second rule, you must never try to remove my mask. If you even attempt to," There his lips turned an upside down smile. "I shall declare our contract null and void and leave. I am a very private person, I would rather no one know my true face."

Sycamore frowned. "You have me at a disadvantage then." He commented. "You know my face and name. What guarantee do I have that you would not look for me outside and try to ruin me?"

Ghishavel smiled. "Very good, Master Descole." He said. "You are no fool."

"I do not suffer fools." He stated.

"Have no fear." Ghishavel replied, soothingly. No doubt it was a question that had been asked before. "I will not look for you outside and if we happen to meet, I would not give away our..." He paused a moment and considered. "relationship." He sighed when Sycamore did not look convinced. "I do not betray my clients simply because it's bad for business." He dusted imaginary dirt off his red sleeve. "As long as you mean me or others no harm then we are in accord. If I or anyone else is harmed by you, then we all have a duty to report to the Yard after all."

That remark gathered tittering laughs from the surrounding people.

Then slyly. "Besides, you gave me a false name. How will I know how to address you outside in the first place?"

That earned an eyebrow raise from Sycamore and a frown from Ascot. Ghishavel waved a dismissive hand.

"Your friend flinched when you introduced yourself." He explained, as if it was very obvious.

Sycamore smiled. The man had sharp eyes.

"Touché."

Ghishavel tipped his hat. "I aim to please."

"Do you always make it a point to observe people around you?" Sycamore asked, swirling the wine in his glass. Red, just like Ghishavel's clothes.

Ghishavel gave him a lopsided grin. "Just the interesting ones."

"Then you find us interesting." It was not a question. 

"You, more so." The other replied.

"Should I be flattered?" He smirked.

Ghishavel tilted his head back, showing a small patch of pale neck and Sycamore found quite fascinating as there was barely any skin to be seen. 

"Are you?" he asked back.

It was Sycamore's turn to laugh.

"No wonder Ascot said I would not be bored." he remarked he leaned back against the armrest, resting his chin on his fist. "And the last rule?"

"This is a fantasy world and I am just one of its denizens. I will love you as you wished to be loved but as with all fantasies, they all die at dawn. I will always leave your side then so you must remember... Never to fall in love with me. And I cannot fall in love with you."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "So confident are you at your skills at seduction that you think I will fall in love with you after just a night?"

Ghishavel bowed his head and smiled, wryly. "Stranger things have happened before. It is just a precaution."  he said.

Sycamore thought for a moment and then nodded. "Of course." he agreed. Then, "And what of the price for your services?"

It was probably tactless on his part to ask such a thing while there were others there. It made everyone else uncomfortable. Usually businesses like these were conducted in privacy. While Sycamore didn't want to sound uncouth, nevertheless he wanted to see what the man's reaction would be.

The response, however, was not what he expected. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the smile on Ghishavel's lips slipped for a moment and if the mask were not there, Sycamore could've sworn it looked sad, like it pained him to hear it. But Ghishavel recovered fast. The smile returned but was slightly forced.

"Answer my puzzle first and then we may talk." He reminded him gently.

"Of course." Sycamore conceded.

Ascot regarded at the two men, grinning. He knew that look on Sycamore's face. He'd seen that look on Hershel's face before and his own, perhaps. He wasn't going to interfere. He wasn't so sure about the other spectators though. They were starting to gather about the two men, perhaps to watch or perhaps to try their hand on whatever puzzle Ghishavel had prepared.

Ghishavel examined his glass for a moment in deep thought. Then placed it on the table with a quiet tap. From his pocket he produced a small pouch and emptied it on the table before them. There were six, little wooden puzzle pieces, finely crafted and smooth. Sycamore smiled.

"I'm assuming this forms a cube." He stated, examining the pieces.

"You assumed correctly." Ghishavel replied. "I've had that for a week now. So far no one has been able to fix it. There's always that one corner that's empty. So for two nights, I've had no companions." He tapped a finger on his chin, lips turned upside-down in annoyance. "It's truly vexing."

Sycamore laughed as his fingers worked on it, sliding two piece against each other. "Surely, you can do without a lover for a night?" He remarked.

"True." He agreed. "But where's the fun in that? We all come here for different reasons but mostly to enjoy ourselves."

Sycamore smirked. "Does that mean you're doing this because you're bored as well? Or just randy?"

Four pieces fitted together and he reached out for another one, absentmindedly. Once again, distracted by the glimpse of a pale swatch of skin, this time, the man's wrists. To his teasing inquiry, Ghishavel did not answer. Instead he took a drink from his wine, emptied it in one go and handed it to a waiting server beside him.

"Who knows these things?" He answered with a shrug.

Sycamore gave him an annoyed look then slid the last piece on, forming a perfect cube. He took the other man's hand and placed the now finished puzzle in his gloved palm. It was not a difficult puzzle though he supposed other people might have a hard time about it. He watched Ghishavel inspect it while some spectators sighed in disappointment. No doubt they wanted to solve it and have him for the night. The others clapped.

"There now." He declared. "Is this answer satisfactory?"

Ghishavel touched the puzzle cube, sliding gloved fingers over the now smooth surface. There were no missing corners like the past two nights have. Ghishavel threw the puzzle cube back which he caught easily.

"Yes. It is. Quite." He replied, smiling.

Sycamore grinned. "Puzzles are a tonic for the mind." He remarked.

Ghishavel grinned back. "Indeed."

He stood and for a moment Sycamore thought he was going to leave. But Ghishavel faced him and gave him a bow. The other spectators by now have dispersed. No doubt to give them privacy to talk terms. It was not polite to listen, he figured. They would return again later.

"As in accordance to the rules, I am now yours, Master Jean Descole." He declared and straightened up. "Is there a particular way you wish me to act?"

The question caught Sycamore off-guard. The words were not out of place, though. Sycamore shook his head, he didn't want to be reminded that he was only paying for the other man's services.

"I find you more... intriguing as you are now." He replied. "Surely many would prefer you this way. This real you?"

The smile slipped again. This time, Ascot also noticed it but only gave a sideways glance at Sycamore which he understood.

"I... suppose so." Ghishavel agreed, hesitantly. "I am as real as you wish me to be." He replied.

The other man hummed at the comment. Ghishavel was playing a game, acting out a role. He seemed to be sincere. At least, that was what it felt like. Sycamore was not sure he liked that. But he was going to continue this little game they played to enjoy himself. And some part of him thought this was probably the closest he could get to the man he adored. Even if the said man he was having such conversations wasn't the person he truly wanted but a replacement.

 _Grim thoughts must stop._  He told himself. Ghishavel looked at him curiously, head tilted a bit to the side with his arms folded on his chest in such a familiar pose. For a moment he thought Ghishavel knew how to read minds to see his innermost desire.

Instead of saying anything, Sycamore smirked and beckoned him with a crooked finger. Ghishavel shook his head, chuckling to himself as he walked back toward him. Within reach, Sycamore slid an arm, appreciatively around Ghishavel's waist. The man he held continued to smile, perhaps fondly at him. His own hands reached, gently out to run black-gloved fingers through Sycamore's soft hair.

"Well?" Ghishavel whispered.

Sycamore didn't answer, instead pulled him down to sit by his side. The motion knocked his hat off. The mask though remained securely on his face, fastened with dark lace around his head. Ghishavel hummed in contentment, letting his head rest on Sycamore's shoulder.

"Tell me something, Ghishavel." Sycamore began. "You're an intelligent man. Surely you can find work other than this. Why don't you find something more..." He paused, gesturing with his free hand. "stable?

Ghishavel chuckled. "That wasn't the word you meant to say."

Sycamore grunted. "I was trying to be subtle."

Ghishavel shook his head, amused. "What makes you  think I don't have other more..." He grinned, mischievously. "stable work than this?" He asked back.  "For all you know I could be a politician" that earned him an eyebrow raise. "Or an archaeologist."

It was Sycamore's turn to shake his head in amusement.

"Are you implying that you're doing this because you're bored?"

Ghishavel tapped a finger on his chin, smiling.

"Who knows these things?" He remarked again.

Sycamore laughed amused. Ghishavel, after a while, laughed with him. It was a cheerful, happy laugh that brought back that lovely flush on his cheeks. Ascot watched at them both with some wonder and dread not quite knowing the real reason behind the unease. Their laughter attracted the attention of the other guests who began to walk toward them to have a chat. Ascot observed them all from his chair with a smile. Ghishavel seemed odd, somehow. Or maybe, familiar. He wasn't quite sure. And from the way Sycamore looked, even he felt it.

But they couldn't quite put their fingers into it. 

There was a puzzle here that niggled at the back of their minds. Persistently, it avoided their understanding. Ghishavel was a puzzle that must be solved. But perhaps it was not for him but for the other man whose shoulder there rested Ghishavel's head. Ascot shrugged in his mind and decided then that he would not interfere anymore. It might work out for the best.

Or worse.

Observation was the key. Without a doubt after this, Sycamore was going to attend more functions such as these if Ghishavel was there. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing though.

"Now then Ghishavel," one of the guests, a lady in a fluffy pink dress began. "You really must tell us, who it is beneath that mask."

"Does it not add to his allure that we don't know?" Sycamore asked.

"Ah, but you are a man who enjoys mysteries." Another guest, an older gentleman remarked. "But what of us poor normal people?" He asked. "You must certainly feel some sort of sympathy for us?"

Sycamore smirked. "None whatsoever." He replied.

The people surrounding them laughed. 

"You're not even a least bit curious?!" A younger man pressed. "How can you love a person whose face you cannot see?"

"Love?"

Sycamore schooled his face to keep from scowling. He didn't know what it was in the question that irked him so. Perhaps it was the reminder that this was all not real. He glanced at Ghishavel by his side but nothing seemed out of place. _  
_

Then to Ghishavel, the man turned. "What about you, Ghishavel? Have you ever fallen in love?"

He did not look fazed at the question though he rested his chin on his fist. Everyone was genuinely curious and from how it looked, he was used to these sorts of questions aimed at him, relaxed as he was.

"Twice." He replied. "Twice I fell in love."

There was a general cry of "Oooooh!" at the reply. Excitedly, the others surged forward to hear more. Sycamore leaned forward to listen, curious as well.

"Once to a lady whom I was engaged to." Ghishavel said he said fondly.

"What happened to her?"

Ghishavel turned away. "She was killed in an accident." He replied.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." Sycamore said, sincerely. He hadn't expect that.

Ghishavel shook his head. "It has been a few years since." He confessed. "It hurts less now."

"And of the second time?" Another guest asked.

Ghishavel grinned, mischievously and leaned against Sycamore, linked his arm to his. The sudden movement almost upset the small table.

"To this man." He replied, cheekily. "As soon as he walked through the door, I knew I would love him."

Sycamore shook his head in disbelief. To think he believed his story about the lady!

"We came in before you. You couldn't have seen me." Scowling, "I don't like it when I'm made fun of." Sycamore  remarked, crossly.

Ghishavel smiled that secret smile, pushed him away playfully, stood up and placed a hand over his heart, dramatically. "You see how he spurns my affections? I am hurt." He said mock sadly. "I try to get his attention and yet he ignores me."

Sycamore placed his palm on his face, shaking his head.

"You are terrible." He commented with fondness.

The other man turned to him. "Am I very?"

It was a rhetorical question. A loaded inquiry. At least it sounded that way. Sycamore wondered though, what it was truly about. Because it seemed to be about something else entirely. He opened his mouth to answer but suddenly the sound of the large grandfather clock rang loudly across the halls. It rang four times signaling the time. Ghishavel looked up as everyone did. And when it passed, all the revelers sighed in disappointment.

The party was over.

He took out a gold pocket watch, flipped the lid open and saw the time. He sighed as he bent over to pick up his forgotten hat and then turned to Sycamore who looked up at him with some regret.

Where had time gone?

"It's time to wake up then?" Sycamore asked.

"Yes." Ghishavel said quietly as he examined his hat.

Sycamore stood up to watch the man. All around them people moved to ready for their departure, chatting animatedly about the events of that night. Revelers moving to get their coats and bags, waiters and waitresses, helped with ushering the guests to their respective cars while the rest started the clean up. The host of the party (whom Sycamore did not know but Randall did) thanked all of them and said his goodbyes.

Against that busy background, Ghishavel was a very lonely figure. Sycamore thought how sad it was.

The silence of the two men was not appealing so taking his cue, Ascot stood up. It got Sycamore's attention.

"So how much did you agree on?" He asked suddenly.

Before Sycamore could say anything or berate Ascot for his lack of tact, Ghishavel strode toward him and without warning, pulled him by his red necktie and kissed him. Sycamore had not expected that though he wanted to earlier that evening. At first he was too dumbfounded to respond but when Ghishavel was about to pull away, Sycamore grasped his face to deepen the kiss.

When they broke apart, Ghishavel stepped back with a small smile on his lips.

"I think that's enough compensation for now." He remarked, cheerfully.

He bowed with a flourish and put his hat on as he straightened up. Without further ado, he turned and strode away. The heels of his shoes, echoed. Ascot and Sycamore remained where they were, dumbfounded.

When Sycamore looked down, he realized that Ghishavel had dropped his mask.

 

* * *

 

He stumbled through the door, feeling slightly lightheaded. He might just be a tad bit tipsy but it was nothing a couple of glasses of water and a bath wouldn't fix. It was still early but he needed to be ready in an hour to make it in time. He had to attend a faculty meeting that morning and give a lecture right after that. Lacking sleep was not good but it was not something he hadn't done before.

He hung his red coat and hat but dropped his pocket watch, muttering a small curse under his breath.

The noise he made seemed to have alerted someone and the door to one of the rooms opened. A young lady stepped out and looked sleepily at him with a small smile on her face.

"Oh! Good morning, Flora." He greeted smiling. "My apologies. Did I wake you, my girl?"

The girl, Flora, shook her head, smiling as she walked over to him to give him a small kiss on his cheek.

"Did you have a nice night out, Professor?" She asked.

Professor Hershel Layton smiled at her, touching his lips that still tingled from what he had done before he left.

"Yes." He replied. "It was a very good night."

 

* * *

**END OF PART ONE**

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My word, Professor Sycamore!" He said cheerfully. "Have care or risk sounding jealous."
> 
> "And what if I am?"
> 
> "What, pray tell, have you to be jealous about?" He asked. Though from the sound of his voice, he knew why in the first place.
> 
> "Isn't it obvious?" The other man asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long. This is a very hard AU to write, I will admit. Especially since I'm not quite sure where this is going to go but I shall do my best to finish writing this. Hopefully, I will be able to finish this little tale. Hopefully I didn't forget any paragraphs...
> 
> Thanks. I hope you will enjoy.

 

"-And that concludes our class." The man in the top hat declared, cheerfully at the sound of the bell, marking the time. "Make sure to read about the Azran civilization chapter in 'Ancient Histories' by Donald Rutledge. Those will also be in your exams. If you need any help, you may find me after classes in my office as usual."

The students groaned as one but it only served to make the professor chuckle. While his students adored him and his exciting lectures, he can be quite a strict taskmaster and some fearfully worried about the exams. One of the passing students left a red apple on his desk as she passed by, whom he thanked. He picked it up, smiling fondly. He liked apples. He looked up from the fruit only to see two men standing by the door, waiting for the rest of the students to leave.

Randall Ascot waved at him enthusiastically and Sycamore nodded at him once. Professor Hershel Layton tipped his hat at them both, in greeting. As soon as the last of the students left, the two men entered the lecture hall. Randall with that unmistakable excited bounce and a wide grin on his lips. Before he could say anything, his red-haired friend threw his arms around his shoulders and almost knocked the black top hat off his head. Sycamore followed in a more sedate pace but he couldn't help but smile.

"Hersh! My old chum!!" He greeted, cheerfully after releasing him from his hold. Perhaps he was a tad too cheerful. "We didn't see you in the party last night. I know you were invited!"

Layton smiled. "I had papers to grade. I couldn't go." He replied. At the mention of the said papers, he unconsciously glanced at the new stack that was about two feet tall, sitting on his desk and sighed tiredly. "Did you have a nice night?" he asked, distracted.

Ascot's grin couldn't get any wider or more mischievous. Suddenly Sycamore dreaded what he would say though he kept his face neutral, pushing his glasses to his face. Layton only raised his eyebrows in askance but there was an odd anxiousness as well. Sycamore could only imagine the man in question had probably pulled something like that on him countless of times before. They were childhood friends after all. Yet when he saw it on the otherwise calm gentleman's face, it did nothing to ease his apprehension. This was not good.

"Did we ever!" Ascot declared. "You should have been there! You would've enjoyed yourself too!"

Layton shook his head smiling at his friend's ardor as he gathered his teaching materials; listening to Ascot prattling about the events of the night absently.

"And you'll never guess who was there in the party!"

"Oh? Who?"

"Ghishavel!"

Sycamore pushed his glasses to his face, again, trying to hide his discomfort. Hershel dropped the maps he was gathering along with several different papers and the red apple. The fruit rolled under the table and floor and stopped by Sycamore's feet.

There was a mischievous grin on Ascot's face. Sycamore wanted to choke him. He _really_ wanted to but he knew Layton would mind it so very much. He wanted to get into the man's good graces. ( _...And his pants._  Ascot's voice suggested from somewhere in his head. He really didn't want to think about that right there.) He heard Hershel sigh heavily, exasperated, rubbing his forehead with a hand.

"Randall..." He warned. "For the last time, I have no interest in such things."

"But, Hershel, he has _puzzles_!!" He whined. "You **_love_** puzzles!" He reasoned.

Layton turned to them, his lips set in an upside-down curve and arms folded on his chest. For a moment there was déjà vu. And Sycamore was confused at who he was looking at.

"While it is true I do like puzzles, I fear I can not do it just to win..." He wave his hand in a vague gesture, his expression hidden by the brim of his hat. "...a person. Do not get me wrong, I have nothing against the man's occupation or the person himself, however, you do know I am..." He paused again. "...uncomfortable with such things.."

Sycamore didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Until the implication of what he said clicked and he couldn't help but allow the smirk to show.

"You are uncomfortable with the part where you solve it to have sex then?" He suddenly remarked, tactlessly.

The brilliant red flush that bloomed on the man's cheeks was quite worth it. Sycamore didn't know what it was that made him suddenly say such things in the first place. He'd done the same thing to Ghishavel when he asked him his price last night. He began to seriously question his occasional lack of tact. Ascot's mouth hung open. Layton looked quite startled at first and then pulled his hat down to hide his flushing face.

"A gentleman never talks about such things in polite company." He remarked.

Ascot recovered fast by bursting out in laughter.

"Come now, Hershel." The redhead remarked, patting his best friend's shoulder in a manner that tried to be soothing. "We've known each other since we were children!" He reasoned, blithely. "Why, we've even gone swimming naked in the river of Memory Knoll and I've seen-!"

Unexpectedly, it was Sycamore who clamped a hand over Ascot's mouth to silence him, taking pity on Layton. The other man looked just about ready to let himself be swallowed by the marble tiled floor if it were only possible; or bolt out the room. Whichever came first. While he was, without a doubt, curious about stories of Layton's childhood, he didn't want to embarrass him further.

"That should be quite enough, Ascot." Sycamore warned.

Ascot threw his arms up in mock surrender when Sycamore let him go. The grin never left his face though.

"Hey! You started it!" He chided. Then to Hershel: "I told you, Hersh. If you don't want him to-" Hershel gave him a pointed look. "...that." He finished. "Then you don't have to. I'm sure you want someone else to talk to about puzzles and whatnot besides me and this man here." He paused. "You'll be bored of us soon enough!"

Layton tsked as he glanced down at his scattered things on the floor. "Randall," He began. "If I was bored of you, I would've excused myself long before we started our friendship." He commented, dryly. He paused for a moment to reach out to put a Neanderthal skull replica into the box after he examined it. "You should know that by now."

"The man has a point, Ascot." Sycamore agreed. 

Ascot glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

Sycamore only shrugged and placed his hands in his pocket, casually.

"I'm trying to convince Hershel to join us next time!" Ascot declared, frowning. "Can't you just see it? Hershel Layton and Ghishavel going at puzzles like there's no tomorrow!" He paused for effect. "Who do you think would win?"

"Randall..."

"I want to see-!" 

The bell rang once again.

Layton frowned. "Randall," he began, very seriously. "Don't you have a class to teach?" He asked.

The long silence was almost comical before Ascot's face contorted in abject horror. Obviously, he had totally forgotten.

_**"Gaaaah!!"** _

He rushed out the room like the hounds of hell were after him. Hershel shook his head in disbelief. The door to the lecture hall swung, uselessly back and forth at his wake.

"I've always wondered how he managed to teach here..." Sycamore remarked, amused.

Layton chuckled. "He's always been this way." He commented. "Always. Running to the next project. You may not believe it but he was, in truth, the one who got me interested in archaeology."

Sycamore raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He honestly did not know that. "I wondered about that. I thought after what happened you'd be more than a little averse towards archaeology..."

Layton nodded. "He used to drag me from one place to the next digging for fossils and broken pots and puzzles." He replied, fondly. "He did the digging though, I was mostly in charge of making sure he didn't break his neck." He paused in thought for a moment. "He didn't break his neck but I almost got killed when I fell down after he accidentally triggered a trap while we were exploring the ruins of Akhbadain."

Sycamore shuddered at the memory.

"I remember that one." Sycamore said quietly. "Luckily we were in the middle of a dig just outside and Ascot found us and took me into the ruins to find you..."

Layton glanced at him with a smile. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see someone walk through those doors before."

Sycamore would never forget that horrible sight. Layton laid on ground covered in his own blood. His bones were broken in several places and lost a lot of blood. They feared he would never recover. He was in coma for almost two weeks. Sycamore gave his blood to him since he was the only one compatible at the time. His parents were quite distraught and Ascot didn't know what to do. Sycamore had seen blood before but never like that. Just the thought that Layton could have died then was sickening.

"At that time, I thought to myself, 'If only I could understand those writings on the walls maybe I could've avoided that...' " He chuckled. "It sounds so shallow now but I really didn't want Randall to quit being what he was and I thought maybe if I could be an archaeologist then perhaps he wouldn't have to stop and I could still continue on keeping his neck intact and then I could also meet..." He trailed off.

Sycamore waited. It was obvious that Layton wanted to say more as he erased the writings on the chalkboard in slow circular motions, distracted by his own thoughts.

"You could also...?"

Layton only smiled and shook his head. He placed the eraser back where it belonged and dusted his hands; small puffs of chalk dust fell. Sycamore was intrigued. Yet he couldn't push for fear of what else he would say. Layton turned to him with that fond smile still in place.

"Who knew I would be rather good at it."

Sycamore smirked. "You're more than good at it, Layton." He remarked.

"You flatter me."

He allowed Layton think that way. In truth, he was among the best. While Ascot may have deciphered the secret of the Norwell Wall, it was Layton who solved the true puzzle of the ruins and unsealed the Nautilus Chamber of Akhbadain. It was also him who opened the gates to the Golden Garden. 

Layton was more than just  _'good at it.'_

He continued to watch as the younger professor gather the rest of his things and place them in a brown box; admiring the small patch of skin on the man's nape when he turned his attention to the floor long enough that his top hat revealed a bit of what his coat collar did not.

 _Professor Layton simply wore too much._  Sycamore decided then and there. Still there was some comfort that he kept his hands bare. He could appreciate the man's slender hands more often. He was quite certain they would be soft and rough at the same time and very nimble. He had seen those hands play the piano before, albeit by accident.

He liked Layton's hands. He liked almost everything about Layton. Almost everything. He shook his head to clear his mind. It was moving towards dangerous territories and he didn't want to think about  _that_  then.

Sycamore sighed and bent over to pick up the maps and the red apple that had fallen when Ascot startled them both, mostly to distract himself. He then placed the rolled up map into the box and heaved when he took the whole box in his arms. It was heavier than he anticipated but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Professor Sycamore, I can carry it." Hershel protested when he saw.

"It's fine." He replied. "Besides," he turned, eyeing the rather tall stack of papers on the desk. "I doubt you'll be able to carry much with those." He looked up at the ceiling. "And your office is next to mine. I'm going back there before Ascot decides to drag me into another one of his foolish escapades." The last part he said with some irritation.

Layton chuckled then tipped his hat in gratitude and picked up the tall stack of papers on the desk. Outside, it was pleasant day.

"So what madness did Randal managed to rope you into last night?" Hershel asked as they walked.

Sycamore grunted. "He thought it was amusing to put me with Ghishavel." He answered.

Layton paused walking for a moment. Sycamore sensed his hesitation and turned to him.

"Layton?"

"Did you... solve his puzzle?" He asked slowly.

Sycamore raised an eyebrow. "Do you honestly believe we can stop Ascot when he has an idea in his head?" He remarked. He had only known Ascot for a couple of  months and found him a tad overbearing sometimes. 

While both Ascot and Layton were the same age, as per Ascot's Father's wishes, he had taken over their family business for a few years and then was allowed to pursue whatever he wanted. He still managed the business from time to time but the business ran like a well-oiled machine thanks mostly to Henry Ledore and Alphonse Dalstone who became Ascot's business partners.

Layton shook his head. "No. I don't suppose we can." He conceded wryly. "Randal does whatever he wants even with us." He paused. "I'm surprised he hasn't tried to challenge you to a fencing match yet."

Sycamore shrugged as much as he could, carrying what he was.

"He did." He replied, nonchalant. "But he hasn't won yet." He deadpanned.

Layton looked at him for a long, long moment and then threw his head back and laughed, loudly. Sycamore was very much surprised. He had never heard Layton laugh like that before. Usually he only chuckled quietly. His laughter was so full of mirth that he couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. The people passing by had stopped to stare at their usually quiet resident gentleman.

Like with Ghishavel he didn't know what it was he said that made them laugh however, he couldn't help but be pleased with himself. His late wife had told him he had the most horrible sense of humor. And just like Hershel Layton and Ghishavel, he made her laugh by accident. He won't tell jokes but maybe somehow he'll be able to make Layton laugh without it.

 _Perhaps there was some merit in what Ascot said._  He thought, remembering the comment about practicing flirting with Ghishavel.

Layton shook his head, smile still firmly in its place. "Please pardon my outburst." He apologized though from the looks of it he didn't really mean it. "I can just imagine his expression when he lost to you. I presume he's challenged you again? He won't stop until he wins after all."

"He did last night." He replied. "Though we have yet to set a time and date when it'll be."

Layton nodded. "I see. Then if you don't mind, may I watch?"

"Of course. You may." He said. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you about our little competitions. I thought he'd be fuming about it like the first time it happened."

The other man shook his head. They continued to walk through the hallways and open walkways to the building where the professors' offices were. They were greeted by students and other teachers on the way. It truly was a pleasant day. The skies were blue and only a few clouds floated, lazily, around. Layton and Sycamore entered the red-bricked building, the heels of their shoes echoing at each step they took through the quiet hallways lined with doors.

"I doubt I will hear of those." He confessed. "Randall isn't a sore loser but he doesn't like failure."

"Who does?"

"Indeed." He paused as he thought for a moment. "I do remember him bemoaning about a fencing match he lost a few months back. I never expected it to be against you." He laughed quietly at the memory. Perhaps it was a very amusing sight. "He then demanded to get to me practice with him. I thought my arms would fall off." He paused and gave him an amused look. "I'd like to think that I've improved some in fencing." He glanced at him sideways. "I have you to thank for that."

Sycamore raised his eyebrows. "He didn't give you much trouble I hope?"

Layton adjusted his burden, balancing them all in one hand before opening the door to his office and letting Sycamore in first.

"Oh, it's still the same as it was when we were in our school days." He said, flippantly. "In terms of how many wins and losses, we're still tied."

Layton dropped his stack of papers on his desk and tried his best to clear some area of it for Sycamore to deposit his load. When it was done, Layton turned to the small area where he could brew some tea as a invitation for him to stay.

They did this frequently as their offices were so close together and they taught almost the same things. They had become friends of a sort. Sycamore breathed the scent of the tea as it wafted about the quaint office.

_Earl Grey._

He smiled then regarded the office, settling on the couch. He didn't want to try his luck on the other chair. Last time he did, it gave him an awful pain in his back. Often he wondered why Layton never thought to replace it.

The books shelves were lined with thick tomes of various sizes and shapes and topics, ranging from history to fiction. Some shelves were filled with memorabilia of past adventures. There were photographs as well and Sycamore couldn't help but smile at the old photograph of a much younger Hershel Layton, gleefully beaming with his parents in a garden.

But then he noticed Layton's gaze linger on a different photograph of a young lady. He knew who she was. They worked together before and the explosion that killed her also killed his wife and little daughter and several others.

It was the most devastating time for the both him and Layton. It was also how they met each other again after that incident in the ruins.

No doubt Layton was also thinking of the same things he was. Judging from the stormy look on his face, the vision that was in his mind was of the state they found their love ones.

That expression didn't suit him at all. Layton looked much better smiling.

"We should have a match then." Sycamore said, impulsively trying to dispel the depressing thoughts. He leaned back, casually. "When you're free, of course." He added after a moment.

The younger professor looked rather astonished at the invite. The tea cups he was preparing clinked together but didn't break. It snapped him from his dark reverie and Sycamore only barely managed to stop the smile from showing. It seemed he had succeeded.

"I doubt I would be much of a challenge for you, Professor Sycamore." Layton remarked, taken aback.

Sycamore waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense." He remarked. "I think you would be better at it than Ascot really."

"Oh? Why is that, pray tell?" He tilted his head a bit to the side, curiously.

"From what I've already known of you, you don't seem to be the kind to allow your emotions to run rampant in a serious situation, what more a match such as that?" He explained. "Ascot is passionate. While it is admirable, it allowed me my victory many a times we've fought."

He paused and considered.

"You, however, keep your emotions in check and you must admit, it has allowed you to think more clearly in dangerous circumstances."

Layton placed the tray on the round coffee table before him and poured the tea before sitting on the opposite chair.

"You make it seem as if I am beyond passion." He observed, smiling though from the way he spoke, Sycamore knew he had probably said something that irked him or made him a bit sad.

Sycamore shook his head.

"It's not that." He said and tapped his own forehead with his finger in thought. "In most ways, you are more passionate about many things. Perhaps more than Ascot. But unlike he, you would never allow it to rule your head. Especially when it matters."

Layton offered him a cup and Sycamore took it. For a brief moment their fingers brushed. Sycamore had to stamp down the urge to take his hands instead of the offered cup, just to feel the warmth of those fingers.

Perhaps he lingered, far too long but when he looked up from the tea, there was a slight flush on the man's cheeks and small fond smile. He loathe to do it but he had to and so he drew away, holding the teacup in his hands. The feeling of that brief touch lingered though.

Layton leaned back against his chair, crossing his legs. Sycamore was once again reminded of Ghishavel, who sat the same way last night.

"Am I so coldly logical to you?" He said quietly and very wistfully.

He had not intended for Sycamore to hear that and yet hear it he did.

"No." Sycamore replied. "But you keep passion so tightly wound up, I sometimes wonder if it inhibits you."

"Does it now?"

Sycamore looked up from his tea to just in time to see a brief flash of  _something_  he couldn't quite name shining behind Layton's dark eyes. It made his hands itch and want to take Layton's form into his arms and hold him there. But as soon as he blinked, it was gone and Layton was drinking his tea with the same calm, aloof expression that he always wore. If Sycamore didn't know any better, he thought he imagined the whole thing.

"No." Sycamore replied to the not-quite question. "It does not."

The calm aloofness from the other man gave the impression of many hidden things, secrets upon secrets upon secrets all just there. He admitted once that he liked almost everything about Layton. This one he hated. The facade that he puts up to hide more than just his thoughts. It made him feel unwelcome in a way. Layton might not appreciate his advances if he tried his own kind of awkward courting.

In the end, wasn't that what he was trying to do? Courting.

Still, the realization that Layton held himself at a distance, despite his friendliness was most discouraging. He might still be pining for the love he had lost.

He wondered if he had any chance at all.

"Desmond?"

Layton's concerned voice cut through his thoughts. He had never been addressed like that by him before. He looked at the other man. Layton smiled. There was warmth there that, despite what he felt a few moments ago, it gave him some semblance of hope.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sycamore shook his head. "I'd like to think my thoughts are worth more than a penny, Hershel."

Layton graced him with one of those looks that he usually reserved for Ascot when he's being an idiot. Sycamore grinned, feeling quite smug.

"I was just thinking maybe we should set a date."

"A... date?"

"For our match." He clarified. "Fencing match."

It was very different from what his turbulent thoughts were but it was something. Layton might not be ready to answer the question he wanted to ask though there was a brief flicker of disappointment in the other man's face. Like he expected something else entirely.

Sycamore smirked. "Come now, Hershel. I did invite you for a match."

He took a sip from his tea, ignoring the fact that it had turned cold so fast. He glanced at Layton from behind his cup. Layton looked a bit surprised at the sudden change of conversation but he finished his tea and placed it onto the coffee table with a tap.

"Well..." He began resting his chin on his hand in thought. "Shall we have it, after you and Randall have your match?"

"Right after I trounce Ascot?" He asked.

Layton chuckled. "Quite confident, are you? What if he wins this time?"

"That depends." He replied. "Will you be cheering for him?"

"What does that have to do with you winning or not?"

Sycamore shook his head. "Nothing or everything I suppose." He replied, nonchalant. Or as nonchalant as he tried to be.

Layton picked up on it though and tsked.

"My word, Professor Sycamore!" He said cheerfully. "Have care or risk sounding jealous."

"And what if I am?"

"What?" Stunned.

Sycamore gave him a look that may have spoken volumes from the way the red flush blossomed on the man's face. Once again surprised, Layton opened his mouth but not a sound came out. For once in his life, Sycamore saw Layton speechless.

It was quite endearing if he was being truly honest with himself.

Layton cleared his throat.

"And what, pray tell, have you to be jealous about?" He asked. Though from the sound of his voice he knew why in the first place.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked.

Layton turned away. Sycamore couldn't see the expression on the man's face.

"Would I ask if it were?" Layton asked, quietly.

Sycamore sighed. He placed his empty cup on the table before him and straightened up.

"Layton," He began then shook his head. "No. Excuse me, I-"

He paused and tried again.

"Hershel, I-"

The door suddenly flew open, making both men jump; totally interrupting the proceedings. In came a rather cross-looking Randall Ascot with an exasperated Angela in tow.

"Aha! You **_tricked_ ** me!" He shouted, pointing a finger at Layton. "I don't have classes to teach today!" Arms akimbo.

Everyone in the room turned to his sudden declaration with mixed reactions. He paused when he saw the expression on both men. Layton's eyes wide, almost panicked and Sycamore's frustrated one. Ascot immediately regretted barging in. He had the inkling that they were having a very serious conversation.

Or was just about to start it.

Sycamore gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then his expression cleared and he smiled at them all. It felt a tad forced though. Irritation still clearly in his eyes.

"Took you quite a bit to notice." He teased.

Angela laughed. "Oh you should've seen him! Panicking as he ran to the lecture hall in the other building!"

Sycamore turned to Layton who had a smile plastered on his face. He tried to read the other man's reaction. From the way his shoulders were set Sycamore couldn't tell if Layton was relieved that they were interrupted; or annoyed. Perhaps it was a bit of both. He shook his head. He was frustrated but there wasn't a thing he could do about it yet.

He would like to think that mayhap it was not the proper time for the question he wanted to ask.

 _Then when would it be?_ A voice whispered in his mind.

Sycamore sighed, not at all listening to Angela. From the corner of his eyes, Ascot knew he had done something that might be a bit not good. He was about to excuse himself out of the room to remedy the situation then maybe the two of them could talk, but a knock sounded at the door and he knew it was all ruined whether he left or not.

Everyone looked to see Rosa with several, expensive envelopes in her hand.

"Professor Layton?" She called. "Forgive me for interrupting. But a young lady came by and asked me to give these to you."

Layton reached out and took the envelopes from her. Sycamore noticed one of them had the seal of the hotel where the party of last night took place.

"Thank you, Rosa." He said, gratefully. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh! And Dean Delmona would like a word with you." She added before she left.

Layton stood up. "My! I wonder what could it be?" He wondered out loud.

Ascot shrugged. "He probably needs help with a puzzle from his granddaughter again." He remarked. Angela snickered.

"Or it's another meeting I'm supposed to be attending and forgotten..."

Layton glanced around his office in search of something as Sycamore rose from his seat, securing his tie that had gone askew on the way to the office.

"My apologies, Desmond." Layton said absently as he gathered several papers on the desk that was research from another dig. "Perhaps we can talk more later?"

"Of course, Hershel." Sycamore acceded. "Hurry now, you'll be late."

The use of first names did not escape Ascot's notice and would have probably said some teasing remark about it from how wide his grin was. But Layton quickly straightened his coat and hat, muttering about where had time gone. Satisfied, he tipped his hat at everyone in the office, excusing himself. He stuffed the envelopes in one of his coat's pockets.

There was a brief flash of gold that attracted Sycamore's eyes before it disappeared back into the pocket as Layton rushed out of the room, absentmindedly. He'd seen it before. Though perhaps it was only of the same make.

It was a gold pocketwatch.

 

* * *

 

Layton was surprised to say the least. Before him stood a familiar young lady with dark brown hair in a yellow trench coat and white trousers. He didn't show it on his face but he was clearly irked. And the lady knew it from the way she smirked, slyly at him. Dean Delmona looked pleased as punch though as he cradled a Rubik's Cube in his hands, solved, (of course) by Layton.

"Hershel," He said. "Forgive me for suddenly calling you. I'd like you to meet your new assistant-"

"Emmeline Altava at your service!" She greeted cheerfully, holding out her hand to shake.

"Hershel Layton, at yours." He said, tipping his hat as he shook her hand.

The grin on the girl's face widened.

"An assistant sir?" He asked.

"Yes." He replied. "It has come to my attention that you have been a tad overworked lately. Your peers are complaining that I've given you far too much work."

"I assure you that is not the case, I-" He began but Dean raised his hand to silence him.

"No, no, Hershel. You are not getting out of this." He said, wagging his forefinger at him in warning. "Truly, you have to get out more." Then he turned to Emmeline with a smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Now Miss Altava, I trust  you to take care of our Professor Layton here. He needs all the help he can get."

She nodded. "Of course, sir!" She said. "He'll have no problems at all."

"I don't get a say in this now, do I?"

"Not at all!" They declared.

Layton bowed his head as they left the office with Emmeline following close behind him. The hallway was empty except for the two of them. Layton stopped and turned to his new assistant with a small frown on his face.

"If I maybe so bold to ask: what are you doing here?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I'm your assistant, of course." She said.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave the incoming headache. "Yes, but why?"

"It'll make it much easier to hide the fact that you go out almost every other night as your other self if I'm here." She paused. "Like it or not, you have been looking a bit harried lately, Professor and certain obligations you have are being slightly neglected." He flinched at this. "It doesn't escape even the Dean's attention."

He sighed but didn't ask any further and they continued to walk.

"So Professor did you receive the invite?" She asked.

Layton glanced at her. "I've received several. Though I haven't opened them yet."

Emmy frowned. "Several of those are from one Clive Dove." She paused when she saw Layton's frown. "He's becoming increasingly obsessed with you. How in the world did that happen?"

"To be honest, I do not know."

"Has he ever... won you?" She asked carefully.

He shook his head. "No. But he was one of Belduke's friends." He replied. "Now that I think about it, he's always there in every party I attended after that..."

Emmy shivered. "I'm not sure I like how he looks at you, Professor." She confessed. "I have a feeling he'll try something soon... And it wouldn't be good."

Layton patted her shoulder, smiling comfortingly.

"Have a little faith, Emmy." He reassured. "I'll be very careful." He added, flippantly. And he turned back to the path they were walking on.

Emmy sighed, tiredly. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

Emmy took a deep breath. "We've known each other a few years now. Since you and Professor Sycamore saved me from the explosion's rubble. I will always regard you highly but I must ask..."

She paused as if she was trying to decide whether she was going to continue. But she rolled her shoulders and put on a brave face.

"Why are you doing this?"

At first she thought that he wouldn't answer her. In regards to matters of Ghishavel, he rarely ever did. However he surprised her at that moment. Layton gave her that sly grin that sent shivers skittering down her spine. It promised many things, good and bad. It was the grin Ghishavel was known for. He placed his forefinger on his lips as if telling her a secret.

"Who knows these things?" He asked back.

* * *

  **END OF PART TWO**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who indeed knows these things? I don't know either!!! XDD
> 
> I hope it wasn't too boring. Things will get interesting in the next chapter I think. I'm just not sure how interesting and I really don't know why this AU Layton is doing these things either. If there are any errors, please don't hesitate to tell me so I may correct them. Let me know what you think. :D I shall go to bed now. Please forgive the errors... It's 1am when I finished. Goodnight. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was specially made for the son of a well to do family back in the... err.... late 17th century I think. Very rare. Not another of its design was ever made again and it was the last one by that watchmaker as well."
> 
> "The only one ever made? Are you quite certain?" Sycamore demanded.
> 
> "Aye." Stachen replied, mildly surprised by the other man's reaction. "The poor fellow died suddenly of pneumonia or a heart attack, I heard." He snorted. "You see, it'll be quite difficult to make watches when you're dead after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, sorry for taking so long. It turned into a very long chapter. I hope it won't be so boring. I've tried to edit it as well as I could but I can only do so much. I haven't slept yet. Writing calms me when I'm stressed. It's very therapeutic. I hope you like it. :)
> 
> I've also edited it now that I'm more sane. (sorry. lack of sleep makes me a bit weird.) This thing is probably going to get more chapters...

Emmy shifted through the mail. It wasn't the Professor's mail though but Ghishavel's. There were more invites to gatherings of so and so. Some were small parcels that contained gifts of jewelry or perfume, some were puzzles that the senders hoped would sway his decision and grant them the honour of attending their event. She clicked her tongue and shook her head at how desperate some of them sounded. Ghishavel seemed to be quite the hit in high society nowadays. It might go bad for him if people discovered who was behind the mask.

She sighed, worried. She really didn't understand why the Professor did these things anymore.

At the beginning she knew it was to gather evidence and information about Targent and the explosion of several years back. No matter what he did back then, he could not find any evidence of any kind to implicate Targent and its members. In Layton's desperation, he'd done what he never thought he would do.

He went and became an escort. For what better way to gather information than to go in places he knew he would not be allowed to go as himself. Many had been so captivated by him that he received many invites as he had now. Through that, he managed to gather evidence and rumours of their movements. He tipped off the Yard during these times and Targent's alert was on high.

None of them ever assumed that coy Ghishavel had been the reason they were up to arms the whole time.

Up to now, no one knew that Professor Layton had gotten his information from his other self and his clients. With the information he had gathered and his machinations, the culprits were arrested for various other crimes that led to the Yard discovering their involvement.

But that case was already solved and all the parties involved in it, behind bars. ( _Or dead._ Her mind whispered, darkly.) Mostly thanks to the Professor's help.

There was no reason to continue on with that masquerade, right?

Emmy sighed and continued to sort through the mail of varying shapes, sizes and aroma it seemed. She was glad that the proprietors of the hotel, Mr. Beluga and Duke Anton Herzen allowed it to continue and even kept the Professor's other work a secret. Everything was directed to the hotel. The mail, invites and gifts. The ones she could carry, she picked up discreetly, donning a different disguise every time to make sure no one knew who she was or the house she went into.

There was a knock at the door and Flora appeared, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and cups. Emmy smiled at her.

"I've brought tea, Emmy." Flora said, placing them on the table in the middle of the study.

"Thanks, Flora!" She said and sat down to take a short break.

The tea was all right. It was better than Flora's cooking but then anything was better than Flora's cooking.

"You're thinking about my cooking again, aren't you?" Flora suddenly asked, pouting.

"What made you say that?"

Flora puffed her cheeks and continued to pout as she was wont to do when annoyed. The expression on Emmy's face must've been a dead giveaway. But she laughed and patted her shoulders, comforting the young lady. She liked Flora. She really did. Had she a little sister, she would like it to be someone like Flora. She was sweet though a bit naive. But considering the circumstances she grew up in and the way the Professor was over-protective of her when he became her guardian, she wasn't so surprised.

Professor Layton could be worse than a mother hen with an only chick when it came to his only daughter.

"Sorry, sorry. I was only teasing!" She paused. "Hey! What about I teach you how to cook?"

Flora's eyes lit up but then her face fell again.

"But I'm not allowed to cook when the Professor's not here..." She muttered.

Emmy winked. "Then it'll be our little secret, right?"

Flora simply  _glowed_ and Emmy couldn't suppress the loud laughter that burst forth from her lips as they made their way to the kitchen. Deciding on a recipe was easy. They settled with curry for dinner after inspecting whatever was in the kitchen. Luckily, there was a small box of curry cubes tucked away behind the bottle of soy sauce in the cupboard. It would do very nicely.

They donned their aprons and tied kerchiefs around their heads to keep their hair from getting in the way or into the food they were to cook. The vegetables, potatoes, carrots and onions, were laid out on the table. Steadily, they peeled the potatoes and then the carrots. The onion they saved for last. If only so they could avoid crying their eyes out.

Flora giggled. "I haven't cooked like this in a while." She remarked, cheerfully as she peeled a carrot a bit too much that only a bit of it was left.

Emmy raised her eyebrows. "The Professor doesn't teach you?"

Flora smiled. "He does his best." She replied. "But his cooking isn't quite like Aunt Lucille's."

Emmy chuckled at the mention of the dear lady. Lucille was the Professor's mother and a great cook. She regularly invited them over for tea or dinner whenever they saw each other.

"I don't think I can compete with her either. She makes the most delicious Shepherd's Pie I've ever tasted!"

Flora laughed. "Yes! Oh, I'd love to learn it! I'm sure it'll bring a smile on the Professor's face!"

Emmy raised her eyebrows. "Why? Has something happened?" She asked, curious.

"Lately..." Flora began. "The Professor seemed troubled." She remarked. "It doesn't seem to be the horrible kind, mind you." She corrected, smiling. "But he gets such a look on his face sometimes and he sighs a lot like he's trying to make up his mind about something only to back out again."

Flora giggled. "It was a bit funny. But I once walked in on him while he was thinking deeply about it. When I called him, he almost jumped a few feet high!"

Emmy chuckled. Just imagining the composed Professor so startled that way was quite funny.

"I'm sure it isn't anything horrible." Flora said again.

"How can you say that?" Emmy asked, peeling a carrot. The skin slowly and meticulously removed by her sharp knife.

Flora tapped her chin in thought. Emmy stopped peeling to turn to her, waiting for her to answer.

"Well..." She began. "It's because he has that fond look my Papa had when my Mama came into the room."

Emmy didn't know what to say to that.

 

* * *

 

Sycamore glanced up at the clock and stretched his arms above his head, back arching to relieve the ache, hearing bones pop. It was almost time. Earlier that day, he'd invited Layton out for lunch in that cafe that opened just recently. Clark Triton, another one of Layton's friends, had recommended it to him and it seemed to be a good place. Though it was not without that knowing grin on his face. He was almost half afraid he'd tease him the way Ascot had been doing nonstop since they met.

At least Triton was forthcoming about the whole thing. Though the blond man did threaten him that if he ever hurt Layton, he'd have his head when it became obvious to him what it was he intended to do. They were all quite protective of their friend for one reason or the other. Layton inspired loyalty and friendship in people so it was natural that they'd be quite protective of him, he supposed. Also because of what had happened to Miss Folley.

Their reunion was not something he reminisced with fondness. Considering the circumstances and all that.

He turned to the stack of papers on his desk. He'd been translating Azran writing to English for the past few hours he didn't notice how long he'd been sitting, almost unmoving in his chair. The tea that Raymond prepared for him earlier that day before he returned to the mansion had grown cold and unappealing.

He drank it anyway. It would be a waste not to.

He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. In truth he didn't need glasses except when his eyes were tired and he needed to get more reading done. But having the glasses, kept a sort of barrier between the world and him. It was something he started using after his family died. It kept the world from seeing his then dead eyes. It's been a few years since. He hadn't stopped wearing them. He looked down at his ink stained hands and the Azran cuneiform swimming in his line of sight.

So much to do, so little time. Turning another page in the compilation of Azran scripts that were sent from an earlier dig, he saw something glint in the corner of his eye. He glanced up only to meet the empty stare of an ivory-white mask. He smirked. It was a simple mask, unadorned unlike most Columbina Masks of Carnevale but the beauty of it was not the mask itself but the one who wore it. He reached out and touched its smooth, cool surface, marveling how such a simple thing could make a person different from what he truly was. An intelligent man, hiding behind another persona, he wondered what sort of secrets he kept to place such restrictions on himself. Surely the face beneath it would be handsome as well.

Putting it on, he closed his eyes and tried to picture the man beneath it...

And stopped immediately.

Because the face that kept surfacing in his mind's eye was that of Hershel Layton. He shook his head. Remembering that golden pocketwatch both men seemed to be fond of. He was not mistaken. He was sure they were of the same make. He wondered where they got it and perhaps get one of his own.

At that thought, he decided that he would buy Layton a gift. Something simple and elegant. Something he was sure to like. Maybe he'd like a tie pin though the man didn't always wear a tie to work. He heard tie pins were things he could give as a courting present to another man. Or cufflinks. Cufflinks were good presents weren't they? He could wear them with the button shirt he always favoured.

He leaned back his chair, hands dangling at the sides as he looked up at the ceiling. Hershel Layton. Intelligent, charming, kind Hershel Layton. He had never expected to see the puffy-haired teen grow up to be the man he was today. Sycamore was only four years his senior and yet the things the younger man had accomplished were quite a great deal all ready. He also never expected to want him so. He'd always known that he found both men and women attractive and after the death of his wife, he never expected to suddenly fall quite as hard as he did.

He wanted him.

So much so, in fact, that he was willing to risk making a fool out of himself and ruin his reputation by consorting with an escort just so he could learn how to flirt with another man. Not that he had anything against them per say. Ghishavel was intriguing, almost frighteningly so, that he sensed almost the same draw he felt whenever he was with Layton. It confused him a great deal too. But he also knew of Ghishavel's rules.

He couldn't love him. Everything the man did was just that. A fantasy, a mask, a facade. So he would be used. He just never thought he would actually try to use one for his own ends. It made him incredibly guilty for a reason, which was a feat considering that most people thought he felt no guilt. They were people too after all and he was quite sure Layton would not approve using other people for their own ends.

The thought of Layton disapproving... It wasn't a very good notion.

He shook his head. Hopeless. That was what he was. Layton invaded his thoughts several times a day to drive him insane.

"I'm hopeless aren't I?"

"Glad you noticed." 

If Sycamore was not expecting Ascot to sneak into offices in the middle of the day, he would've been surprised. Luckily, he did. Sycamore didn't move from where he sat allowing the other man to come into the office.

"Ascot, what are you doing here?" He asked, wearily. "I said I didn't want to be disturbed."

Ascot chuckled and closed the door behind him to lean against it.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" He wondered out loud, shaking his head in disbelief. He folded his arms on his chest, grinning. "Like you don't know me. I do what I want."

Sycamore sighed and straightened in his seat, turning so he can face the other man. Ascot flinched at the sight of the white mask, unsettled by the stare. Sycamore smirked, crossing his legs.

"So?"

Ascot shook his head. "And here I was thinking you'd be rid of that." He gestured to the mask. "Things seemed to be going swimmingly with Hersh!" Though they had the mask, neither men saw Ghishavel's true face.

"I'm not sure if 'swimmingly' is the right description to it, Ascot."

"You have to admit, it seems to be working."

Sycamore chuckled. "Perhaps it was one of your better ideas." He confessed and untied the lace that kept the mask in place. 

Ascot sat on a nearby table, legs dangling to and fro and nearly knocked a few books off their stack. "I'll have you know I have many grand ideas!"

Sycamore placed the mask on his desk with a tap turning back to his work. "Yes, yes." He agreed, dismissively. "And several of them nearly had us killed but don't let that stop you."

"We're not dead yet." He pointed out cheerfully.

"True." He agreed again. "Now, what do you want?"

For a few minutes there was blissful silence. The only sound in the room was the scratching of pen against paper and the turning of pages. After a while, Ascot brandished a scented envelope and dropped it on Sycamore's desk that made him stop. The ink from his pen dripped on the paper he was writing on, making a crude, ugly, black smudge on it and covering the last word he wrote. He noticed the envelope's wax seal. It was the same hotel from where Layton's invites came from.

Ascot grinned, widely. "I've received another invitation." he declared. "I'm sure you already know what that means."

"Will you be going?" Sycamore asked as he glanced the scented paper written in curved script.

"Yes." He replied and pointed at a line in the invite Sycamore didn't read.

Sycamore hummed and returned the invitation to him, not at all reading it. "Have fun then."

Ascot sighed. "It's for the both of us, you idiot!" He said exasperated. "You really didn't even scan through it now did you?"

"I'm not in the habit of reading other people's letters." He retorted, distracted by the ink blot staining the paper he was writing on. Disgusted, he crumpled it and threw it over his shoulder straight into a rubbish bin and started anew.

When no other reaction was to be had, Ascot, quite disappointed jumped down from his perch. Then he snatched the tome Sycamore been reading off the table, much to the other man's protests. The movement knocked several books and papers on the desk and caused quite a mess, irritating the other man further.

 _"Randall Ascot!!"_  Sycamore bellowed.

Ascot pushed the invite to his face, insistent and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Sycamore sputtered, angrily. 

"Read it!" Ascot demanded.

Sycamore scowled and snatched the invite from Ascot's hands and read it, properly this time. His name was on it.  _Jean Descole._ Though it was his false name. His eyebrows rose and he looked at Ascot in disbelief. The red-haired man just shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I guess that's what they call you now." He remarked. "Are you coming? Ghishavel might be there."

"This is for tomorrow night..." Sycamore murmured. "I'm not so certain..."

"Oh come on! Angela can't go because she's going back to Monte d'Or this afternoon and I can't convince Hershel to come because-"

"Because he's busy with the exams." He finished for him. 

"But he might go if you try to convince him." Ascot said hopefully.

Sycamore shook his head, picking up his glasses and pushing it to his face. "I highly doubt that." He replied. "He doesn't like Ghishavel."

Ascot scoffed. "Hershel never  _dislikes_  anyone." He remarked. "You know how he is."

There was some truth in what Ascot said. Layton never seemed to dislike anything or anyone. Even the ones who caused the explosion. Oh, Layton was no saint to be sure, if what Ascot's stories of their childhood antics were to be believed. He'd seen the man hurt someone quite viciously once. Yet that was in self-defense. And then there were glimpses of the mischievous things he did occasionally. But he was very forgiving.

He glanced around the room in search of his coat after putting his glasses on, pushing firmly onto his face. The coat he found draped over one of the couches where he placed it earlier after one of his classes. The couch was obviously more comfortable than that confounded chair in Layton's office. He wondered how Layton would react if he bought him a new chair instead. Something comfortable but to his tastes. He laugh quietly at the thought. Ascot peered at him curiously.

"You're in a good mood." Ascot remarked. Then grinned his mischievous smile, giving him a dirty look. "Did something interesting happen a few days back? Before we came in?"

When Sycamore didn't seem to know what he was talking about, Randall sighed.

"No need to deny it! You've been spending quite a great deal of time together since." He paused. "You even call each other by your names now! That's a big step considering you've both called each other by your last names for the past two years." He paused again growing agitated. " _Two years!! Good heavens!!_ It took the both of you  _two_ years to call each other by your first names!! And I got to call you by your name first as you were both so stiff and formal with each other!"

"For the record, Ascot." Sycamore began. "I didn't give you permission to use my name either." He deadpanned.

Ascot waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details!" he remarked, flippantly. Completely ignoring the other man. "This is a big step for the both of you! I know something happened so do tell!"

Sycamore scowled at Ascot's leer. He didn't like the look he was giving. "Get your mind out of the gutter!" He retorted.

"You can tell me!" He urged. He was vibrating from excitement.

Sycamore couldn't help but be even more infuriated. Something might have happened if only the other man hadn't interrupted their talk. They were spending more time together as Ascot said. But whatever they were supposed to be discussing never came up. He always seemed to choke on it.

He rubbed a hand on his forehead.

_I'm so pathetic._

"Why are you so interested in my affairs, Ascot?" He asked, irked, putting on his coat and straightening his tie. "Surely, there's someone else in the university who can stomach your inane prodding better than I."

Ascot wagged a finger at his face, tongue clicking.

"Desmond, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you already know that Hershel's business is my business as well! And since that is so, seeing as you're interested in my friend,  _you"_ He pointed at Sycamore's face, his finger close enough that it almost touched his nose. "are now also my business." He declared, proudly.

He batted Ascot's hand away from his face. "I can manage my own affairs."

Ascot folded his arms on his chest. "Yes, A lot of good that did." Sarcastic.

Sycamore shot him a glare that could kill anyone else but Ascot.

"If I don't intervene, I'll be watching you both dance around each other for the rest of my life." he reasoned. "Both of you, staring at each other longingly when the other isn't looking..." he trailed off, finding some amusement at the thought, batting his eyes at Sycamore, sickeningly. Then shook his head fiercely. "All this pining can't be good for either of you."

Sycamore sighed. "And what makes you think that he's..." He gestured with his hands. " _pining_ as you say?" He paused and opened the door to step out. "Most of the time I wonder if he would be interested at all."

He walked briskly away, but Ascot followed him matching his steps, stride by stride. Their footsteps echoed around the marble floor and across the silent hallways. They stepped out to the open walkways toward the main building.

"Are you being purposely obtuse?" Ascot asked, incredulously. "Everyone notices it but you both!"

Sycamore stopped and shushed him as some people loitering in the grounds turned to look at them and ruckus Ascot was making. When most turned away they continued on.

"I highly doubt that."

It was Ascot's turn to glare at him.

"Even Dean Delmona knows and he's about as blind as a bat in these sort of matters! Why do you think he hired an assistant for him in the first place? So he could have more free time to socialize! To be with you!"

 _Schemers. The whole lot of them!_ Sycamore thought angrily. Does the whole university know about it? Was that why people gave them such odd looks whenever they were seen together in the hallway? Even Triton and his wife have started the teasing. He stopped abruptly and turned on his heel, anger evident on his face, glaring at Ascot. The other man was taken aback at the obvious rage in his friend's face. 

"Why can't all of you understand this is more difficult than it sounds?!" He was obviously losing his temper.

 _"Because it isn't!"_ Ascot shouted back, resisting the urge to stamp his foot about like a spoiled child. "Just put two and two together!" Ascot ran a palm over his face in frustration. "For intelligent men, you're both dense!"

"Oh for the love of  _god_ , Ascot! Enough!" He exclaimed and threw his hands up in defeat. "I don't want to have this conversation here!"

They resumed their walk in silence.

"But you won't give up, right?" Ascot asked, carefully.

Sycamore stopped mid-step to turn to the other man.

"No." He replied, sincerely. "Not until he says my affections are unwelcome. Only then shall I admit defeat."

"Defeat? You? I thought neither of you would ever give in."

The voice made them both jump, several feet high, it was quite comical. Layton stood behind them chuckling at their antics. The pleasant sound washed over Sycamore, yet did nothing to calm his thundering heart. He wasn't sure if Layton heard what they were discussing. He hoped he hadn't. What he wished to confess, he wanted to do it properly not by accident.

Ascot had fallen over and quickly got up, nervously glancing at Sycamore who was sending dagger glares at him. He wanted to hit himself. If Layton heard, that would be the second time he messed up and he wasn't sure if either men would forgive him for that.

"Umm... did you hear what we were discussing?" Ascot asked carefully.

Layton shook his head. "No. Just the part when you mentioned about admitting defeat and whatnot. I'm assuming it's about the match." He admitted and tilted his head sideways glancing at Sycamore. "Why? Don't tell me you've already finished your fencing match and decided not to tell me. I thought I could watch."

Sycamore shook his head, relief evident in his features.

"Of course not." He replied. "We haven't decided when we were to have it."

"You told him?!" Ascot exclaimed, scandalized.

Sycamore shrugged. "He asked."

Ascot took a deep breath and exhaled. "Fine! We'll have it! Today!"

Layton chuckled. "My word! That was quick!" He remarked.

Sycamore put a hand on his hip, grinning. "So eager to lose?" he sighed. "Ah, but unfortunately, I must decline. I have to leave you to your own devices."

"Ha! Afraid to lose are you?" Ascot shouted, triumphantly.

Sycamore scoffed. "Of course not." Then that annoying smirk that promised pain. "I will win, without fail."

Layton continued to smile and shake his head. "So confident." he remarked. "What if you lose?"

"I highly doubt that."

"You never know with these things." Layton reasoned, cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeves of his dark coat. 

The movement was familiar. Sycamore couldn't help but feel déjà vu once again. Confused for just a moment at who he was talking to. There was something about the flick of his wrists that was the same as Ghishavel's. His thoughts earlier about the mask's wearer in the forefront of his mind. He could only stare at him dumbly, willing the thoughts away. Layton noticed his blank stare and frowned. It was such an odd look on the other man's face. Ascot noticed as well.

"Desmond? Are you all right?" Layton's concerned voice cut through his thoughts.

"I... think so." 

Layton placed a hand on Sycamore's forehead and one on his own to compare temperature.

"You've not caught a cold, I hope." His palm slid down to rest upon Sycamore's cheek.

Sycamore smiled. The other man's hand was rough but gentle. It warmed his heart as he leaned against it; wishing with all his might he had enough guts to just grasp it in his and keep it there. Once he told Ascot that courage wasn't the problem. That was not quite true. If he ever made a fatal misstep then he would lose Layton. Entirely. Without question or doubt. And he truly didn't want that to happen.

 _Is this what I've been reduced to?_ He wondered. But,  _god!_  He wanted Layton.

He almost gave in to the urge but reigned himself in. They were in public, it would not do to be seen that way.

"Not at all. I'm quite fine."

Layton nodded. Sycamore turned his head just a tiny bit that his lips brushed Layton's palm as he drew it away. He didn't know if he just imagined it but Layton's breath hitched at that and there was something else hiding behind his eyes that he couldn't quite name. Sycamore wondered if he just imagined it for the next moment, Layton had put that calm face on. The only hint that the other felt what he did was the faint blush dusting his cheeks as he turned away to glance at Ascot who was very purposely looking elsewhere,  _anywhere,_ but at them, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath.

It couldn't be even more obvious that the red haired man saw what he had done.

"Well then, shall we have our match some other day then?" Sycamore suggested, breaking the silence.

"Of course!" Ascot agreed, grinning. "This time  _I_ shall win!!" The excitable man made a victory pose at them.

"Don't be so certain, Ascot." He remarked. "You'll have to win twice as much if you truly want to be victorious."

"My, you're both certainly quite energetic about the whole thing." Layton remarked, laughing quietly at both of them.

Ascot laughed and threw an arm around Layton's shoulders, grinning.

"Of course! That's because you'll be watching us, right Hersh? You'll be cheering for me since I'm your  _best friend!"_  He declared.

"Over confident, the lot of you!" Layton remarked cheerfully. He rested his chin on his hand in thought, the way he was wont to do when thinking. "Well... I'm not quite sure about that."

"What?! Don't tell me you'll root for for  _him!!?"_  Ascot exclaimed, pointing at Sycamore's face, almost touching the tip of his nose if the other man had not taken a step back to dodge.

"Frankly, I haven't decided yet." Layton replied.  "We have yet to have a match as well, Desmond. As for cheering, neither of you seem to need it as you're both quite convinced of your victory."

"Then, if you will not cheer for anyone, may I ask for a boon when I win?" Sycamore asked.

Both turned to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

"A boon?"

"That's allowed at least?" He said, smiling.

"Me! I want a boon too!" Ascot exclaimed.

Layton assumed his thinking pose, eyes closed in thought. Then nodded, smiling like he just solved a puzzle.

"Indeed." He agreed. "Very well, if you win, I shall owe you a boon." He replied.

"Any kind?" Ascot asked, eagerly.

"Well, within reason, I hope you understand."

The man blushed as if remembering something quite embarrassing. Sycamore assumed it was something Ascot made him do at some point. Whatever it was, it seemed to be something he was determined to forget. One day, if he would ever be graced with the chance, maybe he could ask.

"As long as it doesn't involve any rule breaking of any sort. And no one is to be harmed,  _in any way._ " He emphasized, seeing Ascot look to him with glee. "I see no issues."

"Ohoho! The things I'll make you do, Hershel Layton!" Ascot exclaimed with glee, trembling with excitement.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Randall." Layton admonished. "Just one, mind you. And think very carefully before you ask it of me."

Ascot glanced at both Sycamore and Layton, impishly. It bode ill for the both of them, he just knew it. Layton must've sensed it too because of the frown on his face. Sycamore pushed his glasses up and faced Layton, smiling. He noticed that today, Layton also wore a dark waistcoat and tie to go with his usual attire. And simple cloth cufflinks.

"Well then, shall we?"

"Wait! Where are you going?!"

Layton fixed his hat. "Desmond invited me to that new cafe. Clark mentioned it was an excellent place."

Ascot raised an eyebrow. "Yes, and I'm the Queen." Arms akimbo. 

"Randall..."

Sycamore shook his head and placed a hand on the small of Layton's back, pushing gently to lead him away.

"Enough, Ascot." Sycamore said, dismissive. "There's nothing to be had here." Then to Layton. "Come, Hershel. Let's leave Ascot before we get hauled into other one of his grand ideas."

Layton chuckled. "We'll see you later, Randall."

Ascot watched them leave with a smile. Sycamore's hand still on Layton's back as they walked away, talking. About what, Ascot didn't know, nor did he care. He was just happy. Hopefully it'll put an end to all the dancing about.

"Well!" He could only exclaim.

 

* * *

 

"Was that wise?"

Sycamore looked up from his cup to Layton.

"Leaving Ascot to his own devices?" He asked.

"Yes."

"You should know. He's your best friend."

"Randall is capable of many things..." Layton remarked. "What do you think?"

Sycamore shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure to be honest." He confessed. He tapped a finger on his forehead. "Hopefully Gressenheller survives Ascot's antics for a few hours without us to rein him in. With any luck, we'll see the main building still standing and Dean Delmona's toupee still intact when we get back."

Layton laughed, picking up his teacup filled with tea. Belle Classic this time instead of his usual Earl Grey. Bitter and sour with a sweet aftertaste. They had just finished a lovely meal, and were just finishing up their drinks. It seemed like a the perfect day to be out and about just enjoying the sunshine.

It was a charming little place. Despite how busy Kensington always seemed to be, the cafe remained a quiet place in a busy street such that. It probably won't stay that way seeing as how popular it was going to be soon. He couldn't think of any reason why it wouldn't. The ambiance was nice, the food was splendid and the location was good. He was just going to enjoy spending time in a place like this with the other man.

Layton chuckled. "Then let's hope nothing happens to his toupee. I doubt the Dean would take it well if it flew off somewhere."

"Again." Sycamore added.

"Yes. Again." Layton agreed with a smile. "I believe it's a good thing that Randall's boundless energy is infectious. It seemed to make the whole faculty go at their tasks with more enthusiasm than usual."

Sycamore reached out to take a sip from his drink. Coffee this time. He needed his wits about him and coffee would help keep him awake long enough to finish translating the rest of what he was doing earlier that day.

"Yes. They view him as a threat, I expect." He commented.

Layton raised his eyebrows. "A threat?"

"Yes." He said. "Not in a bad way, I think. What's friendly competition between peers?"

Layton reached out and took the last sandwich and munched on it thoughtfully.

"And you?" Layton asked when he finished.

"What of me?" Sycamore asked, a tad surprised.

"Do you view him as competition?"

Sycamore leaned back his chair, crossing his legs, smiling.

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On what we are competing for." Sycamore replied.

The coffee left a bitter aftertaste in his tongue but that was how he liked it. It would keep him awake for the rest of the day. It would also keep him focused on his task though which task it was, that was another matter as Layton was distracting enough, even just sitting there.

"I should think it would be obvious." Layton stated, calmly.

Sycamore shrugged. "Is it now?" he asked.

Layton was about to open his mouth to say something but the waiter appeared with their bill. Sycamore casually reached into his wallet to pay. Layton, in his usual way protested but Sycamore shook his head, smiling. It was his treat after, he was the one who invited him. When Layton heard him, he laughed, quietly.

"Then maybe I should invite you out next time." Layton said, smiling as he rose from his seat. "Since you always seem to be paying for our meals whenever we go out. We have been going out quite often I observed."

It was Sycamore's turn to chuckle, adjusting his glasses. "I would enjoy that."

Layton placed his hat on his head. "I'm pleased I don't bore you too much. I was afraid you'd tire of me since we've been spending so much time together."

Layton opened the door and allowed Sycamore to step out first. Sycamore smirked. Layton, ever the gentleman. The door closed behind them with the sound of the shop bell. Suddenly they were out in the open streets, casually walking down to other shops. The clock that stood near the bus stop showed they had some time to spend before they needed to head back.

"I would never get bored of you, Hershel." He confessed, watching Layton look at the books displayed in the shop window. "You are far too interesting."

"I doubt that." He said, distracted. When he saw there was nothing that in it that he fancied, he straightened and started walking again, followed closely by Sycamore. "I'm probably the most boring individual you'll ever meet in your life."

"And why is that?"

"My habits are far too regular even when I'm out on expeditions. I run on a regular schedule, like clockwork. Everyday, I wake up at the same time, do the same things day in and day out. Rinse and repeat." Sycamore heard some hint of bitterness in his voice almost like he hated it. "I'm very, very boring. What could be so fascinating about me?"

"Everything." He replied.

"How so?" Surprise, evident on his face.

It was Sycamore's turn to be distracted by the wares in the shop windows. He paused  for a few minutes to look at an antique shop that showcased several small items, and even had gold necklaces and earrings sets, beautifully crafted with diamonds and pearls. It was not what he was looking for though. Still, some jewelers accepted work making custom-made jewelry. He wondered if he could get a pair of cufflinks made.

Something caught his eye. It was in the corner, between two of the most expensive sets. There was a pair of gold cufflinks. Its front was decorated with a top hat with the letter L on it in elegant script. It was simple and elegant. He gave Layton a blatant once-over. The other man looked perplexed at that scrutinizing glance he was giving him.

Then Sycamore smiled. He was going to get those.

"Well?" Layton asked, probably referring to that look he gave him.

He clicked his tongue, smirking. "Fishing for compliments? I never thought you had it in you, Hershel."

"Well-! I-! Never!" He sputtered, unintelligibly.

Layton pulled his hat down to face in embarrassment. Sycamore laughed. He knew he really shouldn't tease Layton so, however the other man was sometimes so delightful he couldn't help himself. Sycamore shook his head, trying to will the laughter away in the hopes that Layton wouldn't be too upset with him. The other man though, kept hiding. Sycamore smirked, leaned close and flicked the brim of the hat with a finger. The hat moved up at the motion to show Layton's embarrassed, red face. Sycamore smiled at him fondly.

"Hullo, Hershel." He whispered, affectionately.

"Desmond..."

Sycamore wanted to kiss him. He truly did. It would only take a very short distance to cross between him and the other man as their faces were nearly touching.

"Professor Layton?"

The voice startled them. Layton hastily withdrew and turned to the one that called him. For his part, Sycamore was not quite sure if he was relieved or frustrated for the interruption. Frustrated because he wanted to give into the urge. He was relieved because it might just be too soon. While he was quite sure of his own feelings, he wasn't sure if it would be welcome. Sometimes he wondered if he should be more blunt about it. Some part of him told him to steal just one kiss. It wouldn't be so bad, would it?

But there was some fear in the other man's eyes and another much deeper emotion. It was not the best time.

He pushed his glasses up to his face and turned only to freeze in his tracks when he saw who was talking to Layton.

He recognized him. It was the young man from the party he attended with Ascot. The one who asked a question about Ghishavel's dead lover. Sycamore narrowed his eyes. The young man tipped his blue cap in greeting. A smirk slowly crawling on his lips. Sycamore instantly didn't like him.

In the light of day, he noticed that he looked very much like Clark Triton's young son, except that he was older. Sycamore felt the anxiousness emanating from Layton. The tenseness of his shoulders and how his back had suddenly gone rigid but tried his best not to show it on his face.

"Clive Dove." He said.

"It's been a while, Professor." Clive greeted.

"Indeed it has." He agreed. "My apologies, Desmond, I hope you don't mind."

It was clearly a dismissal. While Sycamore didn't think it would be best to leave Layton alone with the young man, he trusted Layton enough to be able to take care of himself. He was far from being a damsel in distress after all. He witnessed the other man's strength many times over the course of their friendship so he was certain nothing horrible would befall the man in his absence. Deciding that it might be his chance to purchase what he wanted, he smiled at Layton and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Not at all." He said. "Pardon me, I need to purchase something."

Layton patted the hand that lay on his shoulder with a smile.

The shop bell rang as soon as Sycamore opened the door and stepped inside. Alone outside with Clive Dove, Layton's apprehension did not ease. While he was glad that Sycamore was safely out of earshot, he also missed the other man's presence. The warmth of his hand on his shoulder remained. It made him feel safe for some reason. He wasn't quite certain what Clive wanted but whatever it was, didn't bring him any sort of comfort. The young man shuffled his feet on the ground. A habit that was most probably from his childhood. He waited patiently for the young man to speak first.

"You didn't attend the party a few nights ago. I was worried." Clive confessed.

"My apologies. I had papers to grade." He said. "They'll stack up higher if I leave them be."

Clive chuckled, the smirk softened to a smile. It reminded him of Luke. "I understand." he said. "I hoped you would be there. Your..." He glanced at Sycamore inside the shop. "friends were there."

Layton smiled, forced. "Yes. I heard." He said.

"I... had hoped to see you in Gressenheller today." Clive continued.

"Oh?" Suddenly interested. "Were you there to enroll for other classes? If so, I can recommend several good ones."

Clive shook his head. "No, I just..." He paused for a moment. "delivered something. But it's done now and I need to run a couple more errands."

"I see..." Then he smiled. "Well then, I won't keep you."

Clive smirked. "Good day, Professor." He tipped his cap once more but he stopped for a few moments then gave him a sideways glance. "Does he know?"

Layton raised his eyebrows. "Know what?"

"What you do at certain nights?"

"What are you implying?"

Clive shrugged. "Nothin' really." He replied. "Just that..." He paused, hesitating for a moment. "He's bound to find out sooner or later. Especially since _that man_ has finally reappeared." _  
_

Layton's face paled, understanding dawning on his face. "Why are you telling me this?"

Clive smirked. "Because I owe you." He replied. "And because I find you entertaining. It's so... nice to see you squirm." 

The young man threw his head back and laughed loudly. Then walked, briskly away, leaving Layton quite shaken.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Sycamore entered the shop in the hopes of purchasing the pair of cufflinks that caught his eyes, leaving Layton and the young man standing outside, chatting. A part of him hoped whatever they were going to discuss wouldn't be a terrible thing. Because for some reason, he didn't like the look of Clive Dove.

The antique shop looked much bigger now that he was inside instead of looking in. Tall, grandfather clocks stood in one corner, making tick-tock sounds as he passed. The silence was almost frightening if not for the sound of the clocks. There were furniture, and statues, vases from different parts of the world. Silver cutlery, rings, and necklaces, gems of different kinds were displayed behind glass counters along with the fountain pens and watches from different eras. And many other antiques of varying sizes and shape were all over the place.

The shop owner who greeted him was an interesting fellow to say the least. He was short with a red nose and mustache. He wore woolen scarf around his neck that looked rather too warm even in the cool weather they had and tied far too tightly around his neck he thought it would strangle the fellow. His hair resembled something like a bowl. Sycamore could only imagine one had been placed over his head and every strand that wasn't within the bowl, cut just to save time. He somewhat thought that it seemed more like a hat or an animal perhaps.

One could never be too sure about these things.

"Hullo, lad." The man greeted. "I reckon you're here to buy something, otherwise you wouldn't be standing outside like fish, gaping the way you were." And he laughed, loudly, holding onto his belly as he did.

"Ah, yes. There is something I'd like to purchase." He said, clearly irritated.

"Don't get your pants in a twist. I was just joking." The shopkeeper said, smiling, mirth shinning in his eyes. "Stachenscarfen's the name and this is my shop! You can call me Stachen!" And he held out a hand to shake.

Sycamore, despite himself, shook his hand. "Er, Desmond Sycamore."

"So, what can I do for you!"

Sycamore pointed at the gold cufflinks sitting in a purple velvet case. Stachen hummed in appreciation and jumped down the tall, wooden stool he was perched on. The short man moved, silently toward the shop window where the cufflinks were. Glancing at the two men outside his shop with a secret smile. Gently, he grasped the small box and held it out for Sycamore to examine.

Sycamore couldn't help but smile. It was much better up close. There was some scratching on it but other than that it seemed to be carefully maintained. He glanced at the shopkeeper who now settled back onto the tall stool he was sitting on behind the counter.

"I'll take these." He decided. It was perfect.

"Are you certain?" Stachen asked, surprised. "You haven't even asked me the price."

"I'm quite,  _quite_ certain." He said. "The price doesn't matter. These are the ones I want!"

Stachenscarfen examined at him intently, eyes narrowing, as if trying to decide what sort of fellow he was. Under the scrutinizing gaze, Sycamore felt like a schoolboy again, being scolded by his teacher for forgetting to do his schoolwork. But held his ground and lifted his chin up, daring him to do something. Then he glanced at the two men outside then gave another sideways glance at Sycamore a wide grin slowly forming in his lips.

"It's for him isn't it? The professor with the top hat?" When he saw that Sycamore was surprised that he knew what Layton's profession, was the older man looked at him like he was daft. "Of course, I know who he is. He's quite famous after all."

He paused for a moment scratching his chin in thought.

"But I didn't know he had a lover now. I suppose the rumours were true then. You are his lover, are you not?"

He was not prepared for that question. His face heated up in the most spectacular blush that he had never thought possible. He sputtered, unintelligibly at Stachen and then pushed his glasses up his face to hide his embarrassed face. Stachen laughed his booming laugh, holding onto his belly as he did before.

"He's not my lover!" He exclaimed, voice pitched higher than the usual.

"Not yet!" The older man remarked, cheerfully.

"How-? Why-?? I-!!" Was he that obvious? He wanted to hit himself.

"Now, now." Stachen soothed. "It's all right, really. The professor's a good bloke. It's not the first time men and women have tried to vie for his affections. And you won't be the last either." He paused, scratching his chin. "One lady succeeded. Almost took her to the altar, mind you."

"Yes. Ms Folley." He said, suddenly sombre.

"That's the one." He agreed. "The poor lady. She was a sweet, lovely thing to be sure. Bought a gold pocketwatch from my shop she did. For the gentleman, you see."

Sycamore perked up at that. "A gold pocketwatch?" interested.

Stachen nodded. "The one the Professor always uses. " He agreed. "It was specially made for the son of a well to do family back in the... err.... late 17th century I think. Very rare. Not another of its design was ever made again and it was the last one by that watchmaker as well."

"The only one ever made? Are you quite certain?" Sycamore demanded.

"Aye." Stachen replied, mildly surprised by the other man's reaction. "The poor fellow died suddenly of pneumonia or a heart attack, I heard." He snorted. "You see, it'll be quite difficult to make watches when you're dead after all."

 

* * *

 

Sycamore walked out the shop in deep thought but when he saw the expression on Layton's face, it instantly snapped him out of his reverie. He strode toward him, worry evident on his face.

"Hershel? Are you all right?" He asked, grasping him by the shoulders. "Did that boy do something?"

Layton smiled at him, but he noticed how his lips trembled.

"Yes, yes. I-I'm quite all right." He said. "Clive didn't do anything." He added. "He just..." He rubbed his forehead, wearily. "He just..." He swallowed and heard a click in his throat. "...warned me about something, I suppose."

Layton was clearly upset. Sycamore wasn't used to seeing him this way before. Layton was always calm. Whatever it was, it must be something dangerous. He gathered Layton in his arms and held him, tightly, hoping that in this, the man could take comfort in it. The other man let out an undignified squeak at the sudden movement. He was clearly not expecting that. Yet he didn't struggle in his arms. Instead, Layton slowly relaxed and allowed Sycamore's warmth to seep into his weary frame. Gingerly, he returned the embrace and the other man wondered when was the last time he was held this way.

He loved Hershel Layton.

Layton suddenly stiffened and stared at Sycamore with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. Sycamore hadn't meant to say that out loud. He never meant to confess the way he did then; however, he could never recall the words that slipped out of his mouth. They were the truest words he had ever spoken in his life.

Layton withdrew, an arm's length away to stare at him.

"What?"

"I-"

"You shouldn't." Layton interrupted frowning. Clearly in pain.

Sycamore was taken aback. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or miserable or both at the same time. But what Layton said struck him. It hurt far more than any physical pain. At least those would heal. This one, he wasn't so sure. He told the truth after all. He loved him so.

"Wha-?"

"Desmond, I... care for you." Layton whispered, softly. "But..."

Layton laid a hand on his cheek for the second time that day. Only now,  there was just a small painful smile on his lips. Sycamore closed his eyes tightly, willing what he knew would be tears away. Rejected. He was rejected and Layton was being so agonizingly gentle with it. He could not fault him for that. Some part of him wished he wouldn't be so.

"If circumstances were different, we could've..." He trailed off.

"What circumstances?" Sycamore asked, hopelessly. "Hershel, wh-"

"I will ruin you." He said. "I will never wish such a thing on you. You are a good man, Desmond and I... you..."

Sycamore wanted to demand answers. Why shouldn't he? He needed to know the reason. He wanted to tell him that he knew. Or at least suspected that he was Ghishavel. How could he have been so blind? And it didn't matter to him if he was. But Layton's anguished face stopped him. He had seen that look before. He saw that same expression on his face when his wife died. The same expression Layton wore when Claire died. Sycamore gritted his teeth and tried to calm his breathing. This was not the place to break down. It would be utterly disgraceful, wouldn't it? And that was unbecoming of a gentleman though he was far from being one. He forced a smile on his trembling lips but still held onto Layton's hand. It would be the last time he'd ever hold it after all.

"Well, then." He said, his voice cracked at the end and he cleared his throat, smiling. "Shall we return to Gressenheller then?"

Layton could only nod.

 

* * *

 

Hand-in-hand, they walked through the busy streets. They didn't take the bus back even though it would be half an hour's worth of walk back to Gressenheller. He held Layton's hand, hoping to prolong the way back, trying to memorize the feel of rough hands in his. For Layton's part, he grasped back just as tightly. There was no need for talk and no matter what they said, it wouldn't change the fact that he had rejected Sycamore. There was still time and Sycamore knew he wouldn't get another chance like this. The small velvet box he bought, weighed heavily in his pocket. The present he would never be able to give.

It had been an hour since they parted. Layton didn't know what to feel. He thought he should be angry but with whom, he wasn't certain. Perhaps with himself for being so careless, for rejecting someone whom he clearly cared for. At one point of their walk back to the school, he entertained the thought of taking it all back and _to hell be damned_ if he was found out. But he wasn't certain how Sycamore would react if he found out that he was Ghishavel. He may be highly prized as an escort but that might ruin Sycamore's reputation. Maybe he should fall on his knees and beg for Sycamore's forgiveness? Apologize for the hurt he'd caused. Because without a doubt, he hurt the other man. And he loved him so.

He didn't. Instead, he felt nothing but the absence of Sycamore's warm hand in his.

Within the campus, he saw the students that loitered in the hallways, chattering about their exams or what they were going to do afterwards or just about anything and everything. It started so well today too. However he knew something was amiss as soon as he saw a crowd had gathered outside his office. It was almost comical how the crowd that had been so busy peering into his now open office all turned as one as soon as they saw him step into the hallway before they dispersed.

"Is something the matter?" He asked.

"Oh, Professor!" Rosa exclaimed excited. "You seemed to have gotten yourself a secret admirer!"

"What do you mean?"

Rosa reached out started pushing Layton into the office. Inside, there were several bouquets of red roses that sat on the floor and on his desk. He glanced at the card on one of the roses on his table.

**Secret Treasure**

**With the hope that you will be able to attend.**

There was no signature and he fully expected to feel something. Yet there was no feeling of dread. No fear. No coldness that usually accompanied what he used to fear. Someone knew his secret. He knew it was only a matter of time but he hadn't thought it would be this way. He should've stopped when his secret was safe. He should've stopped after gathering information and locking most of Targent away.

But he persisted and for what?

Everything was gone now.

He leaned with both arms, heavily on the desk. The sickly scent of roses permeated the air around him and he hated it.

"Whoa!" Ascot's cheerful voice suddenly cut through his thoughts and he heard his best friend walk in. "Seems you're quite popular, Hersh!" He observed. "Who's the lucky person?"

"Burn it!" Layton suddenly said.

"Hershel?" Ascot called, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Burn it all! Or throw them away! I don't care! Just get all of _these_ " He gestured wildly at the flowers. "out of my sight!"

"Hershel, be reasonable." Ascot soothed. "I'm sure whoever sent these just-!"

Layton turned swiftly to him. Ascot took a step back in shock at the venomous expression on his friend's face. The look was so foreign on his friend's countenance.

 _"They are of no use to me!"_ Layton declared, angrily.

When Ascot and Rosa didn't budge, he angrily gathered several of the bouquets in his arms, marched toward the window and threw them out. The roses, flew out the window. Loose, red petals drifted as the bouquets fell. Thorns snagged his sleeves and caused some small tears but he didn't notice.

"Hershel... what happened?"

Layton looked down at the roses that lay in a heap outside his window, breathing heavily. From where he stood, it was like a fresh pool of blood.

"What use are they, anyway?" He asked bitterly, more to himself. "What use are all these, when the one that I want, I can't have?"

 

* * *

  **END OF PART THREE**  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, I think I can sleep... Or maybe not. It's 6am where I am. Maybe I should just get coffee. Next chapter, Ghishavel shall finally reappear! I started with him and I'll end it with him. Kind of. XD
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hope you guys enjoyed. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Always so dramatic, Desmond." The older man mocked. "This is just another lesson you must learn. All who cross me must be eliminated. The only reason I drugged him and not killed him was because you wanted him." He leaned forward. "See? Am I not generous?"
> 
> "Generous?" Incredulous. "What sort of drivel are you spouting?"
> 
> He gestured to Layton. "Is he not in your arms now? So pliant and submissive. You wanted him and I have given him to you just like that.. And I could just as easily take him away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly that man is there! Gaah... I made my life rather complicated. I shouldn't post stuff when I'm only half sane from lack of sleep. Some things one need to let sit for a moment... I hope you will enjoy this chapter of Prized Possessions.
> 
> As stated in the previous chapters, this in an AU. The last bit about Descole and Layton in Azran Legacy does not apply here and some relationships have been changed. So I can pretty much do whatever I want with them. XDD But they're still not mine. XDD

That man was the last person in his mind when he came home.

In fact, he was the farthest thing in his mind, especially after the events of yesterday. He'd been distracted all day and Ascot giving him dirty looks was not helping matters. He been near throttling the younger man but stopped himself just in time. It wouldn't be good if he did that after all. Ascot stopped pestering him about the party, opting instead to try to convince Layton. But, Layton had been called by the Yard in the middle of the day and left early. He wasn't sure if Ascot was still going to attend.

He couldn't care less. He had other matters to fix.

So this meeting was a shock.

Sycamore clenched fists, gritting his teeth as he struggled for control over his turbulent emotions. His hands itched. He wanted to destroy something, badly. Preferably the face of the man that sat, comfortably before him in his study. He did not want to be in the same place as that person, especially after the tragedy that man had caused.

All the pain and suffering and for what? Just to advance closer to his goal that may or may not even come to fruition.

The true leader of Targent, Leon Bronev was in his study, sitting on his chair, looking like he owned the place. A pleased smirk on his lips while he read the notes that lay on his desk. The translation of the one of the many Azran scripts from the Nautilus Chamber of Ahkbadain.

"What are you doing here?" Sycamore asked in clipped tones. "I thought you were dead."

The man in question took off his sunglasses to regard him without the impediment of the item. The smirk, still firmly on his face. Leon had the same crimson eyes that Sycamore inherited but his had the coldness and underlying madness that made most people look away in horror. Sycamore could manage it though.

"The reports of my death are quite exaggerated, I assure you." Bronev said. "And is that any way to talk to your uncle, Desmond Bronev?"

God! He hated that name!

"You're not my Uncle." He replied, coolly. "I threw away the name Bronev a long time ago."

Bronev laughed. It sent chills down his spine but he held his head high. One should never show weakness in front of Leon Bronev. The man had a way of exploiting weaknesses and he would never allow him to use any of those he loved again. One tragedy was enough.

Bronev shook his head in disbelief. "Whether or not you acknowledge it, you are still a Bronev, through and through." He picked up the papers once again, glancing at the translated text with a smile, shifting through the papers with ease. "I see your research is going well. I have never met another individual as good at translating Azran text than you. Not even I could compare."

Sycamore could name three other people who were at par with him and all of them were in the same university he worked in. However, he didn't want to put them and their families in danger. Although Knowing Bronev, he probably knew all ready.

"You words are far too kind." He remarked, sarcastically. "I'm sure you're not here for idle chatter." He folded his arms on his chest. "To what foul wind do I owe the..." He paused as he regarded the man. "displeasure of being in your company once again?"

Bronev leaned back the chair. "Is it not enough I wished to see my favorite nephew?" He asked.

Sycamore snorted. "I prefer it if you never show your face before me again." He retorted.

Bronev crossed his legs and steepled his fingers in thought.

"A little bird told me that you have been associating with unnecessary people again." The man began. "I thought you a grown man. Surely, the lesson need not be taught twice."

"And you are a fool to listen to birds." Sycamore remarked. "Everyone knows birds don't talk."

It was lie after all. Real birds could talk. Just not in the same speech as humans. He'd seen Triton translate animal language to human tongue. A trait that his son seemed to have also inherited. Though, of course, the birds Bronev referred to was not the kind that chirped.

Bronev clicked his tongue and wagged his forefinger at him, in disapproval. Sycamore pushed his glasses up to his face to hide his discomfort.

"This one does. If given the proper incentive."

Sycamore walked toward one of his bookshelves as if he was looking for a tome that interested him. In truth, it was just to keep his hands occupied. He should never lose control of his emotions. He paid a high price the last time.

"Which is it this time?" He asked, bored. "Blackmail or torture?"

"You think me so uncouth as to resort to such means?"

Sycamore gave him a look that conveyed exactly what he thought of the man. Leon Bronev laughed, loudly.

"Poor, foolish boy." The older man remarked. "How you survived outside my care is well beyond me."

"Easily." He replied, simply. 

Bronev shook his head, trying to stop the cruel laughter from spilling out.

"How tiresome you are, ungrateful child!" He remarked, amused. "Everything you are is due to my grace."

Sycamore slammed the book he held, back into the shelf he took it from and glared at him.

"Your grace?" He gritted out. " _Yours?!_  You think yourself a god?!" He asked, disgusted at even the thought of it. " **Ha!**  Everything I am, I owe _her!_ " Bronev frowned knowing exactly who he meant. "Everything I am, I owe my wife and daughter that  _you"_ He jabbed a finger at the other man's direction. " _killed!_  And for what? How close are you to the Azran?"

Bronev narrowed his eyes at him. Sycamore could see the fevered madness in them. That fanaticism that all the members of Targent shared.

"I'm very close." The man said, quietly. His hands shook as he looked down at them, the anticipation of what was to come. "So very, very close. The power to bring back the dead is within reach!" Sycamore flinched at that but Bronev continued. "The power to change the fate of humanity! Can you not taste it? Surely, you realize it as well. You and I," He gestured to both of them. "we can grasp it together!"

His brows furrowed. "There is no 'together' here." He said. "You'll soon throw me away when I am of no use to you!" He grated out.

Bronev stood and strode around the desk to stand a few feet away from him. He leaned heavily against it. He looked almost desperate or fevered.

"No! Not this time! Desmond, you must understand. This is it!" He insisted. "You and I will unlock the secrets of the Azran and all it's power and glory!!" He held out his hands to him, trembling in excitement or fanaticism or both.

"I declined once before and I shall decline once again." He declared, defiantly. He strode toward the door, his back turned to the older man. "What makes you think I'd agree. May I remind you, again, that it was your fault my family and many others have died?"

Bronev tsked.

"They were getting too close to unlocking the secrets of Ahkbadain's Nautilus Chambers with their infernal machines..." He muttered. "Your wife and that Folley woman at the head of the project, if neither would join me, they needed to be rid of. And you did not join me either, so actions had to be done. It was just a bonus."

"None of them deserve to die." Sycamore whispered with barely contained fury and sadness. The thought of their bloody and mangled bodies that lay within the crumbling ruins in his mind. 

"Some sacrifices have to be made." Bronev remarked, dismissively. He leaned against the desk behind him. "Those people do not deserve the knowledge that came with the Azran." He gestured at the both of them. " _We_ are the only ones who deserve it! You will join me this time. Your skills will be an asset." It was not a request.

"No." Sycamore repeated, calmly. "As I've said: I decline. You did not succeed when I  had a family you can threaten. What makes you think, I will accept now?" He smirked, mocking. "I thought  _'the lesson need not be taught twice.'_ "

Bronev growled then shook his head and put his sunglasses back on. A sneer of his own slowly spread on his lips that bode ill for Sycamore and the man knew it.

"Clearly, it must." Bronev remarked.

Sycamore turned on his heel, facing him, and folded his arms on his chest. "I have nothing else that you can take. My wife and daughter are dead. _She_ is dead as well. They will never return!" He declared, defiantly. "If you want my research you can read about that in a few days as they'll be published soon. Will you ruin my reputation then?" He laughed, bitterly. "As if I gave a bloody damn about it before!"

"I have no need for your research. And your reputation is useless to me. You are what I want. It's your skills and your mind that we need."

Sycamore scowled. "'We?'" He repeated. "Your organization is in shambles. It'll only be a matter of time before they arrest you."

Bronev cackled loudly at that as if that was the most amusing thing he'd every heard all his life. The sound scraped at Sycamore's nerves.

"Arrest me?" He scoffed. "They couldn't apprehend me then. What makes you think they could now? They are all merely puppets, dancing to the tune I play. They have not the wits between all of them to catch me."

Bronev stood and strode toward him until they were standing only a few feet from each other.

"And you say you have nothing I can take from you?" He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "Don't be so naive. I raised you better than that." He sneered. "That... man is quite intriguing is he not?"

Ice flooded his veins and suddenly he couldn't breath.

_He couldn't mean?_

"It's fascinating how very different he is from his true persona." Bronev continued, slyly. "An archaeology professor by day, Escort by night. I heard he's quite,  _quite_  skilled in the ways of lovemaking. His intellect is not bad as well, he did unseal the Golden Garden and Ahkbadain. Maybe he'd be more willing than you to join me." He leered. It made the hair at the back of his neck stand. "My inclinations don't run in that direction but maybe I'll make an exception for him."

Sycamore saw red. He spun, swiftly on his heel and with a snarl threw a punch aimed directly at the other man's face. Bronev dodged it, easily, and kneed him in the gut hard enough that he flew back and tumbled on his back on the floor. Sycamore's spectacles fell and broke, shattering the lenses. He coughed and struggled to roll to his side, the breath knocked out from his lungs. He snarled despite his injury at the other man.

Bronev scoffed. "Pathetic!"

The commotion alerted the servants as hurried shouting and footsteps echoed in the hallway outside his study. Bronev shook his head and pulled something out of his coat. An envelope before throwing it at Sycamore. The same envelope that Randall Ascot received. Another invitation but this time, the only name written upon its surface was his. The name he threw away to live a peaceful life. The name that was replaced with a new one by the woman Leon Bronev so desperately yearned for.

"See that you make yourself decent by then." Bronev ordered and calmly opened the door and stepped out, disappearing in the hallway.

Raymond and the other servants appeared a few minutes later and were appalled when they realized what had happened. Someone, sounded like Raymond, was barking orders at the others. The rest of them scrambled to obey and ran frantically to find the intruder. Sycamore didn't hear what they said but his old Butler was immediately by his side, helping him up.

"Master, are you all right?" He asked, concern written all over his countenance.

Sycamore sat up, his fingers running through his now disheveled hair. His hands were trembling and ice in his veins.

"Master?"

"Ready a bath and my best suit, Raymond." He ordered. "I must prepare to go out."

"Is that wise, sir?" He asked, hesitantly, observing the obvious discomfort the younger man felt from the injury.

"No." He answered, honestly, wincing. "But what choice do I have?"

Both men glanced at the envelope that lay on the floor. The wax seal dyed red like blood.

 

* * *

 

"This will be my last night." Hershel Layton whispered as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

The room he was in was not to his tastes. While it was without a doubt the best suite in the hotel, he found it far too opulent. Almost gaudy to be exact. But such was the way things were. This was the room that Duke Herzen had given him for his other work. He had done a service to the Duke once, to search for his beloved grand daughter, Katia. He was very grateful that, when time came for him to ask for help, the Duke was more than willing to provide him with a place to act as his base of sorts.

 _It suits your guise._ He once said.  _Far different from what you are truly like._

This was Ghishavel's room that many people who attended the parties he graced with, wanted to at least get into if they couldn't take him home. To lay between the sheets with him and have their way with him. But even after all the time he spent as Ghishavel, inviting them to these same chambers, not a one was able to lay with him. At least not quite.

He had never taken, nor was taken by anyone. Occasional lusty fumblings of men and women were the norm in this sort of occupation though. He touched and was touched (more like groped) with drunken, greedy hands far more often than naught. They ended up asleep soon after, for the wine he served in his rooms was strong indeed. And the times where he spent the night at a client's rooms or residence he always made certain to bring the liquor. It wasn't drugged but he knew where to get the strongest brew that could send even the most alcohol tolerant man to a drunken stupor with just a few glasses.

Not to say that he didn't bring them to completion whenever etiquette demanded it. There were other ways to reach climax after all. Someone once commented that he had skillful hands and mouth. And he put them to good use. His clients would often say he was quite skilled. Of course he was. Their loud moans was a testament of that. And as for others: none of them wanted to admit that they didn't have sex with him because they were too drunk for fear of being ridiculed.

He counted himself lucky at that particular regard. He didn't want to have to do it with some person he didn't even like.

He combed his hair back, making sure not a lock was out of place.

"This will be my last night." He repeated, quietly. He wanted to believe that.

If he was truly being honest with himself, he wanted to stop and just leave the whole thing up in the air. More than a few times he wondered if maybe it was for the best that he pretended that everything was all right and that everyone involved in that incident was behind bars.

However it could not be done. The one that sat upon Targent's throne, the true leader was able to get away while his other associates were caught. The ones caught laughed and mocked the Yard, taunted them all in their mad fanaticism that their organization would never fall. Not while their boss remained. At the present he still heard whispers of other learned men, scholars, archaeologist, scientists and others, disappearing.

If he didn't act soon, he was sure that the next ones to disappear might be one of his friends. He'd lost enough people all ready. That explosion ensured that.

He dressed more carefully this time as he wanted to look his best. He didn't wear the same outfit as the last time. He had more than enough suits that fit his purpose after all. Ghishavel should always be at the height of fashion though not overly flamboyant. Ghishavel was supposed to be elegant and refined. Very different from all the other escorts that now seemed to want to become him. He'd seen the others.

They tended to overdo things.

He carefully fixed the tie around his neck, making sure that his collar was not out of place. It was his last gathering after all. He buttoned his waistcoat, smoothening out the wrinkles as he ran his palms down. His dark red suit coat draped on his bed beside his hat.

Crimson. The colours remained mostly the same. Ghishavel's colours were always black and some shades of red. Red meant many things after all. Fire and blood. War and danger. Power and strength. As well as passion and desire.

Red. Just like Sycamore's eyes.

He shook his head. Desmond Sycamore. The one person he hoped would never find out about what he did "on certain nights" as Clive so eloquently put it. Desmond Sycamore who flirted and made him laugh and had him feeling things he had never thought he'd ever experience again. Who gazed at him with such fondness he could only hope he'd be able to reciprocate one day.

That man who he rejected just yesterday.

His confession had, quite frankly, shocked him. He was well aware that Sycamore desired him and to be honest so did he. What was not to want about the man? Sycamore was kind though sometimes a little cruel. While he had the most atrocious sense of humour, the man made him laugh. He was witty, in an odd way. Charming and was warm to those he called friends.

Sycamore had the nicest hands. Not soft. They were never soft. Rough with toil and wear. Firm and warm. They were big enough that his own hands were engulfed in them. He lifted his hands to look at his palms remembering the feel of them. They shook last time he held them. He'd never thought he'd feel them again after that long ago meeting.

He sat, heavily on the side of his bed, his face buried in his bare hands. Desire was one thing but love was an entirely different sort all together. And while at the beginning he didn't think (or hope) Sycamore harboured such feelings for him, that unintended confession, should've made him happy. It would have sent him to the greatest highs had it been in different circumstances. But Clive's warning was enough to cause him to despair.

"Desmond..." He whispered. "Forgive me..."

A knock on the door. "Professor?"

The door opened and Flora popped in, to check up on him. He raised his head to look at her and he tried to smile, though he only managed a slight quirk on his lips. The girl ran to his side. She placed her delicate hands on his cheeks to gaze at him. They stayed that way for a few minutes. Layton savouring the feel of the quiet comfort his adopted daughter brought for she always managed to calm him.

"You loved him, didn't you?" She asked, quietly.

Layton's eyes were wide with surprise. How could she know? Emmy might have told her. Though probably not the details. It must've been her woman's intuition. For women had these strange hunches that were sometimes alarmingly accurate. And Flora was an exceptional young girl. She always just seemed to understand. She gave him the gentlest look she only reserved for him when his strength failed him. For sometimes his resolve wavered.

"Yes." He whispered. "Very much."

"Did he refuse your affections?" She asked, frowning. "If he did, I'll send him some of my cooking. That'll teach him."

He chuckled. "Oh, my darling girl." He said, affectionately. "It wasn't his fault." He paused. "I... rejected him. I had to."

"But after this night is done, you'll tell him, right?" She asked, hopefully. She pulled him to her embrace. "I haven't seen you so happy since Ms Claire died. He made you happy. So promise me you'll tell him?"

"I will try." He whispered.

Flora smiled and with a kiss on the top of his head, she left him to finish dressing. Hershel Layton stood and glanced around the room in search of his gloves. He couldn't go out without his gloves after all. He selfishly didn't want to forget the feel of Sycamore's hands by touching someone else's. He found them resting on his dressing table right beside a slim velvet box.

He hadn't opened it since it was given to him by the host of the party a few weeks past. While the host was more than gracious, the gift he received was not from him. Rather from someone else. It was the reason he declined at first. The host insisted though and bent over to whisper in his ear that sent chills down his spine.

 _I'm sorry but it's from my boss._ The man whispered.  _You must accept it._

His breath hitched and the host (whose name he could no longer recall) smirked. Without a doubt, thought that Ghishavel was quite,  _quite,_ honoured to be given a gift from their leader. In truth, Layton was quite glad for the mask he wore then. It kept his true expression a secret.

_Then, I accept. Please, give Master Bronev my thanks._

He loathed accepting anything from that man but had no choice on the matter. He had to play the part. His role was that of a courtesan after all. A male courtesan though but a courtesan all the same. He had to be gracious and witty to keep lovers interested. And Leon Bronev was certainly interested. Though perhaps not in the way that others were interested in him.

Because Leon Bronev looked at him differently.

Perhaps he knew what he'd been up to all this time. However, if that were the case, why let him be?

And so he would go to meet that man tonight.

He opened the box, inside was a tie pin. He might as well use it. It might give them the false impression of being theirs. He pinned it on and picked up his pocketwatch.

Claire's pocketwatch.

He handled it with care. There was some scratches on it from the time of the explosion. Tonight it would end. And everyone involved could finally move on. He hooked the chain to one of his waistcoat button holes before placing it in the pocket. The gold chain glittered in the light. He grasped his suit coat, red like his waistcoat though they were both of a darker shade. He turned to the tall mirror once again and gazed at his reflection to be certain not a thread was out of place.

His eyes looked weary and old. But he could take care of that. The mask would ensure that his eyes would never be seen. He was surprised when he couldn't find his favorite. The plain white one. Then he remembered that he dropped it after he kissed Sycamore that one time.

He sighed. Everything reminded him of that man now. He opened one of the drawers and after some rummaging, he found a spare.

"Professor?" A voice called out behind the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you ready?"

He tied the mask's lace securely around his head and put his hat on, smirking at his own reflection. The one who stood before the mirror was no longer Hershel Layton, but Ghishavel.

"I am." He replied.

He took the black cane leaning against the wall and opened the door, stepping out of the bedroom and to the sitting room where Flora, Emmy and Clive sat waiting for him. The three rose when he appeared. Flora smiled at him but she looked worried as she helped him put on the coat and refastened the pocketwatch's chain to the button hole. She turned him around so she could see her handiwork. He placed his gloved hand on her cheek, trying to reassure her that he would be fine.

"Flora, will you be all right going home on your own?" He asked.

She frowned. "I'm staying here with you and Emmy and Clive." She said, stubbornly. He opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head. "I can defend myself now. You saw to it I took my fencing lessons well."

"My dear, I don't want you getting hurt-"

"I don't want you to get hurt either" She cut in, frowning. "and yet you insist in these endeavors. So I shall stay. For good or ill, Father. I shall stay."

She raised her chin up, giving him a look that brooked no arguments.

He looked utterly stunned at that. For she had never called him that way before and it warmed him to hear it from her. She was no longer the frail, little girl left to his care. She was a lady. And when she came of age, he was quite certain she would become a force to be reckoned with.

He smiled and shook his head. "Ah, my dear Flora." He said, affectionately. "Sometimes I forget that you're growing up. Very well. I trust you."

She smiled, gently at him. "Thank you." Then she looked at him seriously again. "Remember what we talked about. If you don't do it, you'll be miserable all your life."

He nodded, knowing what she meant and turned to Emmy and Clive.

"Is everything prepared?" He asked.

"Chief Inspector Gilbert and his men are here." Emmy replied, seriously. "I think we're ready."

Clive frowned. "I'm sorry about this, Professor." He said. "He might make me do something to you tonight... But we have to buy the others some time."

The older man patted his shoulders.

Clive opened door and allowed Ghishavel to step out to the hallway first. Ghishavel gave a fleeting look at the suite and its occupants one last time before the door closed behind them. Clive frowned at the older man. His gaze roaming as if to inspect his form.

"Not bad at all." Clive said.

Ghishavel tilted his head to the side.

"You look quite ravishing tonight, Ghishavel." He observed, bowing. "You make me want you even more."

Ghishavel responded with a little bow of his own.

"Thank you, Young Master Dove." He replied. "I will say the same for you however your tie is a bit crooked."

Clive sputtered and then tried to fix his tie, which seemed to make it worse. He cursed. Flora had taken great care in helping him with it earlier on and he'd be damned if he ruined it all.

"Let me do that for you."

Clive hesitated for a few moments but allowed his arms to fall back down to his side. He straightened his back and lifted his chin, staring at the other man in defiance. He didn't want to look incompetent in front of this man. Ghishavel stepped forward to reach out and refastened the tie. 

Clive got a good look at the older man. He couldn't stop himself from staring. True that his inclinations ran toward the fairer sex, (particularly towards Flora but he hoped with all his might Layton didn't know until he presented himself as her suitor.) yet, every now and then he'd find himself admiring the girl's guardian.

It was all admiration of course. The man had saved him before after all. And for that he would always be grateful. Still if one could ignore his plainness (for Layton as himself was plain in his opinion) he was actually quite charming.

Ghishavel patted his chest when the article in question was set properly and stepped back to look at his work. His chin rested in his fist in thought. Clive cleared his throat and offered his arm to Ghishavel to lead him across the hallways. Ghishavel smirked but slapped the offered arm, shaking his head. Clive immediately lowered it, frowning in askance. Ghishavel's smirk didn't leave his lips. He clicked his tongue as he waved his finger at the young man.

"Come now, Young Master Dove." He teased. "It wouldn't do for me to be seen in your arm. Why! What would my lovers think?"

Clive chuckled. "I'd be the envy of the whole party, I should say." He replied. "They'd all realize I spent the night between the sheets with you."

Ghishavel leaned forward, his breath tickling Clive's ear as he spoke, making him shiver in a pleasurable way, embarrassing him for his body's traitorous reactions. He admired the man. Just not in that way but whatever charm Ghishavel put on seemed to also work on him.

"And was my performance satisfactory?" He whispered.

Clive grinned. He would play his part. "You had me moaning your name at the top of my lungs last night." He remarked. "Was that not enough proof?"

Ghishavel reached out once more but this time to raise the younger man's chin up, his face dangerously close that their lips very nearly brushed.

"Win me again and I might just show you what else I'm capable of." He whispered.

Without warning, Ghishavel pushed him away hard. Hard enough that Clive stumbled and his back bumped against the wall with a thud. He sputtered and cursed at him but Ghishavel was already walking away, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath. He walked in the other direction of the hallway, no doubt to prepare tonight's puzzle first. Clive got up, dusting himself off and running his fingers through his hair to put it to rights.

"Fat chance of that happening." He muttered. "I could never win you even if I tried. You're not my type and then there's the stiff competition and all that."

Emmy peeked out of the door at the noise and then shook her head, rolling her eyes. Clive only scowled at her.

"Shut up will you?"

"I haven't said anything yet." Emmy shot back.

"I can hear you think. Stop that." Clive spat.

Emmy folded her arms on her chest. "Just because the professor trusts you doesn't mean I won't keep an eye on you." She said.

Clive blew a stray lock of hair out of his face, irritably. "Yes, yes. I know. Hurt the professor and I'm dead." Then he pointed at her. "I could say the same for you. For the record, I don't trust you either."

Emmy scowled.

"Stop it you two." Flora scolded from the room.

The two were about to protest but before they could say anything else, the loud sounds of a clock's bell resounded around the hallways, signaling the start of the hour and the party. Clive closed his eyes, took a deep breath and gathered up whatever courage he had to clear away his doubts and fears. When he opened his eyes and let the breath out, his eyes were clear and with determination.

"Time to go."

"Be careful, Clive." Flora whispered.

Clive grinned and bowed courteously to both women then turned strode away to play his part.

 

* * *

 

The ballroom of the hotel was actually a small separate building within the garden's premises. Almost every night or day, a party was being held there. The Folscense Hotel was quite famous in the elite social circles for their impeccable service, the opulent rooms and most especially the garden ballroom.

In the day, trees and flowers could be observed. On the best nights, the sight of the starlit sky could be seen through the tall glass windows. Fountains and sculpted statues adorned sides of the cobblestone paths and the chandeliers' lights illuminated the rooms. It seemed that all the guests have arrived, wearing elegant dresses and suits though not one wore the colour red.

Clive took a gander at his surroundings. The tall doors were closed with a footman on each side. There weren't that many guests like the last few times for it was a private party and some of the gentlemen looked familiar though in a shady way. He felt the unease but found comfort in the fact that at least it was away from the main hotel building. Hopefully, whatever Bronev planned wouldn't include harming the more civilians.

He sipped the wine he had taken from a passing waiter, watching Bronev's every move. He kept his face calm though in truth he was far from it. The party was already in full swing when the doors to the ballroom, were thrown wide open by the footmen and suddenly a silence filled the hall.

"Sir," Clive's voice called from behind Bronev. "He's here."

While Leon Bronev was the host of the party that night, he could not help but notice the respect and awe Ghishavel garnered from all the revelers. Even his associates (and Clive with his youthful arrogance) stopped what they were doing to turn to the open doors when he appeared. The music stopped and the conversations ceased and the revelers parted to make way for him to walk through.

Ghishavel bowed to them with a flourish, taking his top hat off in salute to many guests.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen." He greeted, cheerfully. His voice carried well around the large room. "I trust you are all well?"

It was such an odd sight to behold. He had never seen anything of this display unless it was to greet the royal family. Ghishavel was an escort, a glorified prostitute and yet in this closed-off, fantasy world of the ballroom, Ghishavel was the king. And Bronev, despite himself, joined the men when they bowed while the ladies curtsied as that man passed, paying their respects to this figure in crimson.

The only one in the whole party with the audacity to wear red.

Leon Bronev smirked as Ghishavel drew closer to where he stood. His steps echoing as he walked with clear, purposeful strides. He was dressed immaculately in red and black as was his usual colours. It highlighted the paleness of the white mask that was firmly on his face. Bronev could not deny the pleased satisfaction he felt when he saw that the other man was wearing his gift, proudly. The tie pin he had personally selected.

Bowed as he was he was surprised when he glimpsed a black gloved hand offered to him. He glanced up from where he bowed and saw that it belonged to Ghishavel, looking down at him with a smug smile on his lips.

 _The cheek of that man._ Bronev thought. Instead of being angry, it merely served to fuel his fascination. Gingerly, he reached out and planted a kiss on the back of his hand then straightened to lead him toward the velvet settee by the tall, glass windows.

And when the other man sat, as it was before, the music played and the conversations continued where they left off.

"Master Bronev," Ghishavel began, leaning against the settee's backrest. "I must thank you for the invite. These parties are splendid as usual."

"Not at all." He replied, coolly, seating himself on the smaller sofa beside him. Close enough that he could touch the man if he wanted but far enough to be respectful of sorts. "It's only your radiance that makes all these gatherings interesting."

Ghishavel laughed, quietly. "You flatter me, sir." He said.

"I see you wear my gift. Are you pleased?"

Ghishavel touched the pin with reverence. "Pleased? I'm very honoured you thought of me enough to grace me with a present, sir." He replied. "For all the parties you threw never once have I seen you attend them. I was concerned you did not like my company and debated whether my coming would chase you away."

Bronev leaned close to Ghishavel. "I had matters to attend to, much to my sorrow. And could not enjoy your company sooner." He smirked. "Had I known what sort of creature you were, I would've gone out of hiding sooner to come pay you homage."

Ghishavel raised his eyebrows then smiled, flirtatiously. "You give me far too much credit, Master Bronev." He whispered. "I'm merely one of this fantasy world's many denizens." He gestured to the many guests in the ballroom.

Bronev leaned forward once more, Ghishavel turned face him. His black clad hand reaching out to place a palm gently on the man's bearded cheek.

"Is that so? Well then will you indulge me tonight, Ghishavel?" He asked, a hand placed on his thigh, sliding slowly up to his hip.

Ghishavel tapped the other man's lips with a finger, smiling before pushing his face away, playfully. Bronev sputtered incoherently at the sudden movement. Ghishavel withdrew and propped an elbow on the armrest, his chin resting on his palm.

"You're so forward." He chuckled. "I'm quite appalled. I thought a man of your" He pause and seemed to give him a once over. "status would not be so uncouth to resort to such means?"

Bronev eyebrows furrowed and Clive who had been silently standing behind him, winced, concerned that Ghishavel had seriously offended the host. Nobody crossed paths with Leon Bronev, offend him and lived. But Bronev surprised them all by laughing thunderously. Loud booming "Hahaha's" full of mirth.

The older man ran a hand through his wild, dirty-blond hair.

"I can see why many are so taken with you." He remarked. "You make people want you more. Is this truly your way? Lure them in and push them away."

"Who knows these things?" He asked, though the smile was knowing.

Bronev chuckled. "Ah, my Ghishavel." Clive flinched at that. "My associates were not wrong tell me about you." He remarked. "You are truly are quite fetching. Once more I wished that I came out of hiding sooner then maybe I could have treated you with more lavish gifts that are due to you."

He raised a hand to hail a passing waiter and turned away for a moment to obtain two glasses full of champagne. One of which he offered to Ghishavel who took it with a smile, thanking him.

Ghishavel chuckled. "Gifts are one thing, Master Bronev. But it is your company I seek."

"And yet you deny me the chance to lay with you." He shot back, easily.

The man in red's smile turned smug. "Ah, but do you not enjoy the chase as well, sir?" He asked. "For the prize at the end of it?"

"As long as the prize is worth it. I will endure."

Ghishavel tapped a finger to his lips with a smile.

"Am I worth it, you wonder?"

The grin Bronev gave him made him shiver.

"Oh, you are worth it. I'm quite certain of that."

Ghishavel remained calm though and took a sip from his champagne. There was a strange slight bitterness to it but he didn't think so much about it.

"I'm pleased you think so." He replied, primly. "It seemed like you left the public eye for quite a while now." Ghishavel remarked after another sip from his glass. "I hoped everything is well?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Bronev replied, dismissively. "I had a..." He paused as he considered. "pressing matter I needed to attend to."

"Nothing serious, I hope." Ghishavel remarked with some concern.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." He replied. "I had to lay low for a while. Though it was a nuisance."

Ghishavel shook his head. "You mustn't think that way, Master Bronev." He said. "The fact that you are now here now is a blessing, indeed."

"You flatter me with your silver tongued words, Ghishavel." He said. "For an odd reason, I am intrigued and everyone knows, I'm not so easily swayed. But I must wonder if that's the only thing you are good at."

Ghishavel smirked. It sent shivers running up and down Clive's spine and he was pretty sure that even Bronev was moved.

"And I'm curious to find out."

Ghishavel drank the rest of the champagne, his cheeks dusted red from the alchohol. He looked down the empty glass for a few minutes, the smile now gone from his lips, considering. A server approached when they saw that the glass was empty and took it from Ghishavel's hands.

After a moment he turned to Bronev once more with that fox-like smile that he was known for.

"There are certain laws to this world, Master Bronev. Are you prepared to play by the rules?"

Once more, Bronev's loud laughter was heard. Some of his other associates could only look on in wonder or fear. They weren't quite sure which.

"I am well aware of them. Nevertheless, I bend the rules however I see fit." He stated, coldly. "But for the sake of propriety, very well. I shall play your little games. It might help pass the time."

Ghishavel smiled and placed a hand on chest to bow.

"I'm pleased then."

"We'll have all the time in the world, Ghishavel."

Ghishavel nodded then snapped his fingers and a board was brought forth and laid on the table before them. Bronev knew what it was. It was an English Peg Solitaire board. Ghishavel placed sixteen marbles on the indents in a triangular fashion. Bronev rubbed his chin with a smile.

"So this is it?" Bronev murmured.

"That's right." He replied. "I take it you know how it works? There has only been one other person to solve it since I've brought it out."

"Only one other?" Bronev asked. "Not many intelligent people then?"

"I wouldn't say it that way." Ghishavel remarked, crossing his legs. "Not everyone can think around corners like you, Master Bronev."

He pulled at his gloves to hide a small, white patch of skin on his wrist. Clive noticed how intently Bronev was looking at his hands before he turned to the board, taking a marble to move it over another to take a piece.

"How would you say it then?" Bronev asked. "You must get bored of all this." He made a vague gesture at their surroundings. "No one else to challenge your intellect?" He picked up another marble moving it and taking a piece.

"Not at all." Ghishavel replied, cheerfully. He tapped his chin, smiling. "Recently, everything has become more enjoyable." He looked at the captured marbles. Only half were left.

"Oh? How so?"

More marbles were captured. The quiet tapping of marbles being moved and taken, seemingly loud against the music and celebration of the party.

Ghishavel grinned. "You're here now aren't you?" He whispered.

"No wonder he was so taken with you."

Ghishavel tilted his head sideways. "Who?"

"My nephew. You know him as Desmond Sycamore."

The mask hid the widening of his eyes but it did not conceal the sudden intake of breath at the name. He didn't want Desmond to be involved in this. Not anymore. The man had been half-mad with grief the last time he heard of Targent. And why wouldn't he? After all, it was Targent's fault that their loved ones perished. He schooled his face but it was no use. Bronev looked at him and from the slight quirk on his lips, he saw and that did not bode well for him.

"Is he now?" He whispered. Then loudly: "Surely you jest. I remember the names of all my lovers. Not a one was called Sycamore."

"Really? He would be very sad to hear that." The voice was mocking.

Ghishavel tapped his white mask, in thought. Another two pieces were captured.

"I can't help it if they don't give me their real names." He said, petulantly. "It's not my habit to pry in their personal lives." He grinned. "I'm merely here to serve their most secret fantasies."

"Will you also serve mine?"

Ghishavel opened his mouth to say something but suddenly, his vision blurred and the world started to spin. He placed a hand on his face to try to still the spinning.

"Is something the matter, Professor?"

Ghishavel rose to his feet, mouth open in horror.

"Wha-what did you-?!"

"It's amazing what a little pill can do."

Bronev was examining something between his fingers. At first Clive thought it was one of the marbles but upon closer inspection, it was a white pill. Ghishavel took several, staggering steps back, knocking the board off the table. The marbles bounced and scattered on the floor. Clive ran to catch him but Bronev stopped him with a raised hand. No one else dared to help him.

"Why-?" Ghishavel slurred.

Bronev stood and walked toward Ghishavel. The other man lurched back, his vision still spinning. The mask slipped off his face and fell, shattering to the ground. He had enough sense to cover his face with a hand though he did that to try and keep the dizziness at bay. He needed to get away. Clive had warned him beforehand that something was most probably going to happen. He expected many things. But this,  he was most unprepared for. He cursed at his carelessness.

"Why? Surely you know why." Bronev sneered. "You are the reason my organization's in shambles. Oh, yes. I know all about it. My associates kept taking you home and gatherings and getting data of our movements. You leaking information to the authorities, hindering my progress and now, my nephew denies me because of _you!_ "

"I declined your offers because you're a murderer."

Desmond Sycamore strode into the ballroom, dark coat and all. He looked verily like a black crow or raven; ready to swoop down and take vengeance on those who wronged them. Behind him was Ascot, eyes wide and in shock.

"Desmond..." Ghishavel whispered, reaching out. "G-get away from here..."

Sycamore reached out to support him and keep him standing. But he could already see what was wrong. The drug was starting to override Ghishavel's mind. His eyes, now free of the mask, glazed over, unfocused but very frightened as he looked up at Sycamore's face as if trying to memorize his face. The strength that was in his grip before left him.

He fell limp in his arms. Sycamore easily assessed the situation. The symptoms and the white pill on the floor was enough to tell him what had happened and what it was Layton ingested. Though why the man was this sloppy, he wasn't sure. Layton was far from being a damsel-in-distress and he was usually able to collect himself enough to be ready for most if not all danger.

There was a conflicted look of Clive Dove's countenance, he knew what would happen but allowed it anyway. Sycamore glared at Bronev once more seated on the sofa beside Ghishavel's throne. He carefully knelt to allow Layton to lay in his arm more comfortably.

"I-is Hersh okay?" Ascot asked, panic written all over his countenance.

"He should be fine. He doesn't seem to be allergic." He replied. "We need to get him to a doctor just to be sure though I can guess what was given to him." He continued to glare at Bronev. "And you asked me why I thought you so ill-mannered."

Bronev clapped his hands.

"Always so dramatic, Desmond." The older man mocked. "This is just another lesson you must learn. All who cross me must be eliminated. The only reason I drugged him and not killed him was because you wanted him." He leaned forward. "See? Am I not generous?"

"Generous?" Incredulous. "What sort of drivel are you spouting?"

He gestured to Layton. "Is he not in your arms now? So pliant and submissive. You wanted him and I have given him to you just like that.. And I could just as easily take him away."

Clive could no longer wait. The signal was not there yet but if he didn't move fast enough, the professor and the other innocent bystanders would be hurt. Not that he cared for the others. He reached into his coat and pointed the gun at Bronev. The muzzle right at the villain's temple.

"Harm a hair on his head, I'll put a bullet through yours."

Several armed men emerged amongst the revelers and surrounded the ballroom and shut all the door leading outside. Ascot wasn't able to act fast enough. A man from behind seized him, twisting his arms and making him kneel in pain on the floor. Clive's gun was knocked out of his hands before he could blink. He snarled, furiously, and threw a punch at one of the men. It was avoided easily. He was kicked in the gut by another thug and then restrained on the floor. The man who kicked him, stepped on his back for good measure. Clive coughed, having the breath knocked out of his lungs. Sycamore's hold on Layton tightened, the man groaned.

"And I thought you were the smart one."

"You won't get away with this!" Clive growled. The goon on his back shoved his face to the ground once more.

One of the men handed Clive's pistol to Bronev. The older man hummed, quite pleased then aimed the muzzle at the younger man's head that lay by his feet.

"Such nonsense." He remarked. "Perhaps I should make do with a threat of my own."

He cocked the gun and was about to pull the trigger. Clive gritted his teeth to ready himself for the final shot. Some lady was screaming in fear somewhere.

At the corner of his eyes, Sycamore saw Emmy, hiding right outside the windows. It was shadowed enough that she couldn't be noticed behind the tall bushes and she was with several other people, he garnered they were police officers. They couldn't move in yet. He needed to buy time.

"How barbaric. I thought you a civilized man, Uncle." Sycamore remarked.

Bronev withdrew the gun, amused. "Sometimes, one has to resort to such means if only to be understood by less" He paused as he looked down at Clive and the other frightened guests. "gifted people."

Sycamore, gently shifted Layton's weight in his arms to carry him better. Bronev's subordinates, the ones near him, immediately pointed their guns at him but the older man stopped them with a gesture. Cradling Layton in his arms, he walked toward the settee, to allow his burden to sit upon it. Layton sat upon the throne with open unseeing eyes, like a doll. Sycamore picked up the top hat to lay it upon his head, swiping a stray lock of hair away from his face, smiling. He caressed the man's cheeks, comfortingly then stood, taking a glass of wine from a waiter, frozen in fear.

"While I don't deny your methods are quite convincing for most, Uncle." He said. "Surely, it's a bit excessive. Tell me, is this your way of trying to persuade me to join you? It's making me all the more uninterested." He swirled the wine in the glass then spun on his heel to face him. Peering at Layton from his raised glass. "In fact, I'm beginning to feel bored. I loathe boredom. And I thought you'd provide me with a more..." He paused to consider. "entertainment?"

"Is this not enough for you?" Bronev scowled referring to Layton.

"I propose a more refined way of going about this." Sycamore said, cheerfully. He returned the empty wineglass on the waiter's tray. "We are civilized people after all. Surely you don't object?"

"I'm listening."

Sycamore walked a few paces away from them and gestured with both his hands to their surroundings with a smug smile.

"Within the walls of this building is a fantasy world." He began with a smile, remembering the words clearly. "We can have everything and anything we so desire. If the rules of this closed off world is that to whomever who solves the puzzle, can attain where our passion lies, then why not do the same thing?"

Sycamore faced him with an impish smile.

"May I propose a puzzle of sorts?" He asked.

"What?"

 _"What the hell-?!"_  Clive exclaimed, it earned him another kick from one of the men restraining him.

"Go on..."

Sycamore swept his cloak back and bowed with a flourish before returning to Layton's side.

"It's a simple coin game." He grinned and produced a coin, seemingly out of nowhere, allowing it to glide over his fingers as he explained. "I shall lay out twenty-four coins in a row and you and I will then take turns picking them up. You may take one, two or three coins on your turn if you prefer as will I in mine. Last person to pick up the final coin wins." He grinned. "Simple isn't it?"

"Quite."

Sycamore nodded. "It's much better than all this threats of bloodshed." He remarked. "If I win, you will surrender, the rest of your organization disbanded and you will never threaten my friends again."

"And if you lose, you will join me. Willingly and without question. Same as your lover and that one over there." He gestured to Ascot on the floor.

 _"I will??!"_  Ascot cried out, stunned. Disbelief written all over his face.

 _"Bastard!!"_  Clive cursed.

"Why?" Sycamore inquired.

Bronev pointed at Ascot. "Randall Ascot is the one that deciphered the Norwell Wall and found the Mask of Miracles." He gestured to Layton. "Your lover unsealed Ahkbadain. And you are able to read Azran script and discern traces of it from ruins. You will become my heir. I want the three of you." He paused. "There is still the City of Harmony to uncover. The last of the great legacies. With the three of you, I'm sure the power of the Azran will soon be ours."

Uttering a silent apology to both men, Sycamore nodded.

"Very well." He agreed.

"I doubt I have much choice on the matter." Ascot muttered from the floor then to the thug keeping him on the floor. "Hey! At least let me up a bit. Not my kink being stepped on."

He was allowed to sit cross legged on the floor. Ascot pouted, crossing his arms on his chest.

"Desmond." He called. "Just so you know, after all this, I'll probably hit you. Then you can explain what the hell is going on. But before that, make sure you wipe the smug look off that arsehole's bloody face!"

Sycamore chuckled at the threat. "Of course."

He seated himself on one of the single settee at the other side of the table, facing Bronev. Layton in between them, moaned as if in pain. Sycamore could see that even though Layton was paralyzed by the drug, he he was still conscious enough and struggling to keep it that way. Though how conscious, he wasn't certain. The drug that he was given was quite potent. For most people, within fifteen minutes of ingesting it, they'd be unconscious. It was quite a feat to be able to keep awake in a manner of speaking. He admired the man's strong constitution.

"Shh... It'll be all right. I promise." Sycamore said softly.

He flipped the coin in his hand, smiling at Bronev then threw it. The grin was sly and shark-like, all sharp and menacing. The older man caught the coin but the grin sent a foreboding shiver down his spine.

"So? Shall we begin?"

Bronev chuckled. "I wish for nothing else."

The older man gestured for aid and at his beck and call, several men in dark suits came forward and cleared the table in front of them, picking up the marbles and the board as they went. As Sycamore said, twenty-four coins were laid on its top.

"Do you want to go first or shall I?" Bronev inquired, fingers steepled.

"By all means, go first." Sycamore answered.

When Bronev didn't move, the younger man sighed.

"Is something the matter? Don't tell me you're afraid?" He taunted. "What happened to all your confidence?"

Bronev sneered. "You've become very arrogant since you left my care." He remarked, taking a coin.

"Not at all." He replied, cheerfully picking up three coins, examining each of them up close. "I just found new confidence outside your influence."

"That woman's fault no doubt." Picking three up.

"Have little more respect, Uncle." He scolded. "My wife made me a better man." He took a coin, flipping it between his dexterous fingers, allowing it to glide over his hands before placing it on his side of the table.

"Humph! So you say." Bronev remarked. Three more coins disappear in his hands. "She made you weak. And when I eliminated her did you not rise from the ashes as a new man?"

"A more bitter man." Sycamore replied, calmly. He took a coin, examining it once more. His thoughts were not on it however. Bronev was intentionally baiting him and he would not be lured. "And what of you?" He asked back.

Bronev took another coin and waited for Sycamore to take three before he answered.

"What do you think?" He asked, smiling. "I have power and wealth." He flipped the coin he took. "What more could I ask for?"

"And yet that woman still would not return to you." Sycamore remarked.

Bronev flinched. Sycamore smirked. 

_Got you._

"You loved her." He continued as he steepled his fingers. "It's funny how the world works, isn't it? You may have everything and yet the one person you truly desire, you can't bring back." He chuckled, unkindly.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Rachel that way!" 

Bronev slammed a fist on the table hard enough that the remaining coins ( _Just seven more._ Ascot's mind supplied.) jumped at the impact. The older man's hands shook in fury and for a while Sycamore thought he'd shoot him on the spot, still he kept his calm. He could see outside, shadows were starting to move.

"Once I obtain the power of the Azran, I can bring Rachel back!" He snatched two coins from the table, not at all looking.

"She's dead." Sycamore countered. "No matter how much we wish for their return they will never come back to life." He took three more.

 _"Silence, boy!"_  He bellowed, angrily. Then he pointed the muzzle of the gun at him while the other took another coin, clumbsily that he almost dropped it.

"If the Azran had all the power in the world, to force countries to bow to their name, to turn back time and bring back the dead; then tell me this, Uncle." Sycamore began calmly. "Where are they now?"

There was silence in the room.

"Are they not extinct?" Sycamore inquired. "Their cities in ruins and their legacies buried in sand and dust? They may have once been a great people but surely if even one of them remained, couldn't they have easily turned the wheel of fate back to return their great civilization to all it's splendor?" He leaned forward to take the last coin.

Bronev glanced at the empty table. All the coins were gone and he had lost.

"Once more, Leon Bronev, I ask you: Where are they now?"

The question sounded loud against the echoing silence. Bronev let out a loud animalistic growl and suddenly lunged at him, knocking the table and the pistol aside, his wrinkled hands around Sycamore's throat that the younger man tried to pry off as they fell onto the floor.

"For your insolence I will watch with glee as despair fills your eyes while I kill your lover!" He gritted out. "Just like your family!"

Sycamore choked, struggling to breath as the grip tightened around his neck. He kicked his legs useless under him but Bronev had him pinned down. Clive and Ascot tried to fight back against the ones that kept them in place to attempt to get Bronev off of Sycamore. Sycamore clawed at the older man's hands and arms and pushed at his face, gagging.

No one was really certain what happened or how but suddenly the police officers were flooding the ballroom. People were screaming, scrambling for cover in fear of being hit as Targent opened fire at the officers.

His vision darkening, Sycamore thought his time was up and glanced at Layton's direction, giving him an apologetic look. He wanted to save him at least. But before his consciousness darkened completely, there was a thud and Bronev's grip on his neck loosened. Air flooded his lungs and he coughed.

_"You-!!"_

Bronev turned and was glaring at Layton who was struggling to keep awake despite his heavily drugged state. He managed to drop his leg on Bronev's back, distracting him enough to let Sycamore recover for a few moments before the younger man punched Bronev with whatever strength he could muster from his position and throw the man off him. Bronev stumbled back, his hand landed on Clive's pistol. The madness was visible in his eyes. Bronev roared, his sights on Layton, aiming the gun at him who slumped back to the settee, his strength spent. Sycamore's instincts took over, he sprang at Bronev. Both men struggled to take a pistol away.

With the chaos all around them Clive used the distraction to elbow the man pinning him down, on the chin, knocking him out cold. Ascot managed to be freed from his captor as well. He wasn't sure where it came from and he knew better than to bring a sword to a gunfight but he picked up someone's cane and attacked his captor with a sudden poke at one of his eyes and when he was stunned, a swift swing at the back of the head. Both men turned to Sycamore and Bronev still fighting for the pistol, waiting for an opening to help and trying to keep the other thugs from interfering. Emmy was busy, evacuating the other people while protecting them with Flora, fencing with a cane at one of the thugs when they tried to get near them.

There was a loud bang and a cry was heard, stunning others in the room.

_"Desmond!!!"_

Blood seeped through his clothes, staining his white shirt crimson and he shook, eyes wide in shock. A few moments, Ascot thought Sycamore was the one who was shot, for when he touched his body, his trembling hand came away red. But Leon Bronev, coughed. His blood splattered on the younger man's face, gripping him by the shoulders with all his strength.

"D-Desmond..." Leon Bronev whispered.

Leon Bronev slid and fell. The blood spreading on the floor where he lay. The rest of Targent, when they saw their leader on the floor lost all will to fight and surrendered. Paramedics entered and rushed to give first aid to the wounded. Several of them approached Bronev and checked his vital signs.

"He'll live." One of them told the inspector behind him. "Just need to get him to the hospital soon."

Ascot stood with his nose bleeding and a purple bruise on his cheek still holding the cane.  Clive seemed all right though from the way he held his arm, he must've dislocated something. He would sport a lovely shiner after all this and he was fairly certain he had other injuries as well. But they didn't care. With a watchful eye, they observed as Bronev was loaded onto a stretcher to be taken away to the waiting ambulance outside.

Around them, Targent agents were handcuffed. The shaken or injured guests were treated by paramedics while others were taken by the police for their involvement and their statements taken. While it was tragic, it was also lucky that the price this time was not too high. They expected more casualties. So far, three were dead and several gravely injured.

Flora was beside herself with worry and as soon as she was allowed, rushed in and knelt by Layton's side trying to wake him. The paramedics were explaining something to her, assuring her that he would be all right much to Flora's relief. She burst into grateful tears, happy that she didn't lose another father. Emmy joined her, patting her shoulders to comfort her.

In the midst of everything, Sycamore stood unmoving with the cold pistol and Bronev's blood on his hands and clothes.

"Professor Sycamore?" Clive called, concerned.

"Desmond?" Ascot called out, alarmed at how still he was.

It seemed to rouse him. Sycamore moved, striding towards where Layton slumped, now fully unconscious on the velvet throne. He dropped the pistol and reached out to cradle Layton's face in his hands, blood smearing his face. 

"You're safe..." Sycamore said. "You're safe... Hershel..."

He was relieved that Layton was there; warm, breathing and alive. The sight and feel of it tore a sob from deep within his lungs that he couldn't stop. He trembled. He embraced Layton. He held him tenderly. For to him now, he was the most important person in the world. More precious than any gold, silver and knowledge. More beloved than any prized possession he could ever dare or hope to obtain.

 

* * *

**END OF PART FOUR**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehh... I hope that was all right. Really worried about this. @_@ The end of Chapter 3 hinted at someone returning. I'm sorry. T_T Please don't hate me! T_T Please stay tuned for the epilogue! I don't think it's going to be short though. But I've already started to writing it. It will answer all the other lingering questions (hopefully) and finally resolve their feelings. Eh... I'm sorry. T_T
> 
> The puzzle in chapter one was something a friend of mine gave me. The peg solitaire mentioned in this chapter was from Diabolic Box. I think it was in chapter 2 or 3 of that game. I really liked it. The coin game is Bronev's in Azran Legacy. Another one of my favorites. Ironic that Desmond should use it. But I keep messing up the count when I was writing this so it took so long. Hopefully I got the numbers right. 
> 
> I hope this was all right. T_T I will go hide under my bed now. T_T


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry." Sycamore said, softly. "I dropped it while we were in the waiting room and I think I broke it." He paused. "It stopped ticking so I took it home to repair it. It's working perfectly fine now. I wound it up and now it's synced to the clock in Gressenheller."
> 
> "What-?" He asked dumbfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The Epilogue. I hope questions will be answered here and hopefully this will be satisfying end to this little tale of mine.
> 
> The bit about Descole and Layton at the end of Azran Legacy does not apply here. I'm still doing whatever I want with them!

Sycamore couldn't take his eyes off of Layton the entire time they were in the emergency room. Whatever drug he was given, the doctor assured them that he would be all right. That was not to say that he would walk away unscathed. The drug had some side effects he would be experiencing. There would be lose of memory of the events after ingesting the drug and he would be sluggish for a couple of days when he woke up. As for other effects, they wanted to they keep him in the hospital for a couple of days for observation just in case.

While the doctors were examining Layton in a separate area, Sycamore sat with Flora out in the waiting room. The room itself was all painted in white with uncomfortable, hard chairs that was nearly as bad as the one in Layton's office. Nurses and doctors hurriedly strode, checking patients from bed to bed, bringing items here and there as most of the people from the incident were brought to that hospital.

Ascot and Clive were taken to another hospital but promised to check on them later after they were cleared. He doubted that Clive would be allowed out early though. Ascot was probably giving his attending physicians grief. He was never one to sit still when worried.

Alone now, both Sycamore and Flora sat, wearily; waiting for Layton to be brought to a private room. His clothes were handed to the young lady who accepted it. There were heavy bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and slowly building panic. She worried her lip as she sat, clenching and unclenching her delicate hands on the clothes she held.

"Don't do that." Sycamore suddenly said. His voice hoarse. "Your lips will come away bleeding if you keep biting like that."

She turned to the man, startled enough that she almost dropped Layton's clothes. The pocketwatch tumbled out of the waistcoat pocket, unnoticed by Flora. She stopped biting her lip. But only for a moment before doing it once more. A habit that she seemed to have developed as a child. He sighed and leaned against the backrest, wincing when he breathed in too deeply. He shouldn't be one to talk though. He didn't look any better. But he came away with the least damage between Clive and Ascot and him. He had bruises on his body, though no broken ribs, strangle marks around his neck and a bloody, split lip. 

Despite almost being killed, it was all still pretty good.

He looked disheveled with blood on his clothes and face yet he didn't care. Flora glanced at the older man sitting beside her, taking note of the damage. He looked calm enough on the outside but his hands were trembling. Earlier he refused to be treated, arguing that Layton needed it more than he. But was forced to with a pointed look from Flora before he agreed. After some of the tests, he sat in a place where he could still see where Layton lay. Flora couldn't decide what she thought of the man. She didn't know him well enough to judge but so far from what she'd seen, he was good man.

She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and reached out to wipe the blood off his face. It made him wince and withdraw but she clicked her tongue, gently cupping his face with one hand while the other continued to do what she had set out to do.

"Hold still please." She said, gently. "It wouldn't do to be seen so unkempt." She scolded, gently. "Gentlemen should always be tidy."

He rewarded her with a quiet laugh but hissed soon after. It hurt to even laugh.

"Hershel is the gentleman not I." He said, repeating what Ascot told him once.

She her brows furrowed. "But you are courting him, are you not?" His stunned silence seemed to confirm something to her for she nodded once and continued her gentle ministrations. "Then you must always look presentable."

He smiled at her wryly and allowed her to continue to clean the blood off. She was more or less successful after a few more minutes and despite feeling like he'd been run over by a truck, he looked more or less saner than he did earlier that evening. Flora smiled when she saw her handiwork.

"There." She said. Quite pleased with herself. "You look more handsome now, despite the... you know." She gestured to the bruises.

He chuckled and Flora smiled shyly at him, her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. They had only been in each other's company for a few hours but he decided her liked her. Layton had often talked about her with pride whenever they went out however he never had the honour of meeting her.

"I'm... pleased you think so." He replied, not quite certain what he should say.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence and it was only after a while that Sycamore noticed the pocketwatch that fell by his feet. He bent over and picked it up. He turned the item in his hands, to examine it further. It was a solid gold pocket watch. The only jewelry that Layton allowed himself to wear.

He touched the lid, embedded with a simple design of a stag surrounded by forest and an elegant border. There was a motto on it, but it was worn enough that he couldn't make out what was written. It seemed to be the crest of its first intended owner. He pressed down on the button at the top and the lid opened. It was a beautiful watch certainly. But for whatever reason, his mind didn't register that its hands didn't move until after a few more minutes of admiring it.

Concerned that he broke it, he placed it in his pocket and resolved to repair it himself later, once he had seen for himself that Layton was settled into a room and Flora was with someone, at least. Capable as they girl was, he didn't want to take any chances. There might still be escaped Targent agents hanging about, ready to pounce in their most vulnerable moment. No amount of training could prepare anyone at such a surprise.

At that, Emmy appeared with Raymond following closely behind.

"How is he?" Emmy asked as she approached.

"They're still examining him." Flora replied. "But they said they'll bring him out soon to a room and keep him for a couple of days just in case. " She paused. "How are Clive and Professor Ascot?"

Emmy smirked. "Clive's all right or as all right as he can be considering his arm will be wrapped up in a sling for several weeks." She shook her head. "I haven't heard anyone curse that much in years. The kid curses like a sailor." She chuckled. "Professor Ascot though... I'm more concerned about his doctor and nurses going mad. They'll let him out later if not sooner. Or have him carted off somewhere, it really depends which one comes first." Then to Sycamore. "You don't look any better though."

Sycamore gave her a sideways glance and shrugged. "I just need a change of clothes." He replied. He pointed at his face. "These... don't bother me too much."

"Whatever possessed you to go at a game like that with Bronev?" Emmy scowled. "You risked quite a lot with that game of yours, had you lost. You weren't even sure if he'd keep his end of the deal. "

"He wouldn't." He admitted. Then: "I didn't lose." Sycamore stated.

"You could've." She shot back. "That was reckless!"

He sighed, tiredly. "I saw you outside." He said. "Needed to buy time or Bronev would've seen you. Knowing him, he was most probably aware you were coming for him."

The doors opened and Layton was being transferred to a more private room. All of them stood up and followed. Sycamore had a look at Layton as he lay still under the covers with an IV attached to his hand but he was breathing in a slow steady rhythm that was comforting to see. If one didn't know any better, one would assume that he was merely sleeping not drugged.

Flora reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Layton's face before settling on the chair by his bedside. Sycamore watched her with a smile, reminded of his own daughter. She was still a small child when she was killed. Just barely five years old with her mother's face and hair but her eyes were all his. Red and gleaming with mischievousness and wondrous curiosity that only children had. Had she lived, he was certain that she would've liked being friends with Flora and Luke.

He mentally scolded himself. This wasn't the time for those thoughts. He had to look after Layton and his daughter. She needed to rest at least. It wouldn't do to have her stay up all night.

"I'll look after him tonight. You need some rest."

Flora scowled at him. "You're the one that needs to rest." She protested and poked his cheek making him wince. She then smiled gently as if in apology for the hurt and to reassure him. "Don't worry. I won't be alone."

"But Targent might-"

Emmy grinned. "No worries, Professor Sycamore." She said. "Inspector Grosky's guarding outside." She paused. "He's one tenacious fellow, you know that."

"I'm... not quite reassured." He said, slowly.

"She's with me." She added. That seemed to do the trick. "Go get some sleep. I'll stay with Flora tonight." She said and after a moment: "I'll call you if anything happens."

He was exhausted. The adrenaline was starting to wear off. He had hoped to stay long enough. And he opened his mouth to protest some more but Raymond was all ready helping him to his feet. He glanced at the ladies in the room and smiled before nodding. Emmy would keep them safe. And Flora might look like a frail girl but judging from what transpired tonight, woe be to any man who tries to hurt her or her loved ones. He admired them for their strength for they were strong, indeed. And he was thankful for that.

He looked down at Layton sleeping peacefully. He wanted to touch his face and run his fingers through his hair; and he moved his hand to do just that but stopped midway and clenched his hand to a fist to keep them still. It was a foolish thing to do. He placed his hand back to his side and turned to the door and striding out with Raymond closely following behind.

Flora had seen the move and for a few minutes, mulled over it. She glanced up at Emmy who shook her head.

"They said it's complicated." She replied to the unasked question. "These two... Not an ounce of common sense between the two of them."

Flora sighed. "I'll say."

And with a look exchanged with Emmy, ran out to follow Sycamore out the door.

* * *

 

"Professor Sycamore!"

Sycamore stopped. He was just about to step into the car but was surprised that Flora had gone after him. For a few heartbeats he thought something  _had_  happened and Layton had taken a turn for the worse in those few minutes it took for him to leave the room. Flora noticed the sudden change in Sycamore's stance and walked slowly toward him, half afraid she'd startle him and he'd panic.

"Miss Reinhold? What happened?" He held her delicate hands in his.

"Yes. I mean, no. I-" Then she shook her head trying to collect whatever courage she could muster to say what needed to be said.

"Yes?" He urged, expectantly.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. She gripped his hands back tightly and with much determination. Sycamore was taken aback, quickly deducing that there was nothing wrong with Layton but she just needed to tell him something very important.

"My father, Hershel, is an odd fellow." She began. "He is intelligent about many different topics but on matters of the heart he tends to push people away. He's afraid to lose loved ones like how he lost Miss Claire. But despite all that, please understand he loves you."

Stunned, he could only stutter: "H-how would you know?"

Flora smiled. "We just know these things." She replied. "Just... Please, I hope you understand."

She let his hands go and turned to run back into the hospital. He stood there for several moments before Raymond politely cleared his throat. His face was blank but there was a twinkle in his old eyes that Sycamore knew he was quite, quite amused. He sighed and entered the car. Raymond closed the door and rode as well, driving with a poorly concealed smile on his lips.

The city lights blinked in and out as they drove pass the roads. It was half past two early morning and while everything seemed quiet, there were a few shops and bars that were still open. Some people were wandering about in their party clothes. Sycamore watched the events from his car as they drove. His mind in turmoil.

"Master," Raymond called, snapping him from his confused thoughts. "if I may be so bold as to give you advice?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps, it's time to once more reconsider your relationship with Master Layton." He said.

Sycamore scowled. "Not you too." He muttered. "I get enough of that from Ascot... He already rejected me." He paused. "Perhaps we're better off as friends..." He added wistfully.

"I have been by your side since you were a child. Ever since Mistress Rachel entrusted you to my care before she passed. I've seen you grow up and love and grieve. You look at Master Layton with the same eyes you once gazed at your late wife, Lady Sycamore. So I ask: Will you truly be content to remain as friends?"

"I was rejected." He said once more, there was some bitterness in it but he also understood in a way. Then: "I-I'm afraid to push." He admitted.

"With all due respect, Master. Lady Sycamore also rejected you. Several times in fact, before your suit was accepted. You persevered. Can you not do the same for him?"

"There's nothing similar about then and now, Raymond! Surely you understand that!" He begged, desperately.

Raymond raised a bushy eyebrow at him. "And why is that?" He inquired.

"He... He still loves Miss Folley." He replied, defeated.

Beautiful, young and perfect Claire Folley who held Layton's heart. And what was he? He was just one man. He was far from perfect. He wasn't sure if he truly could make Layton happy. He wasn't even convinced if he made his family happy when they still lived.

"And you still love Lady Sycamore." Raymond stated matter-of-factly. "But just because you do, doesn't mean you love him less. I may not know much about Master Layton but I'm convinced he is the same."

"Raymond, I..."

The car stopped when the lights changed from yellow to red. Raymond lifted his head to look at the younger man with wise, kind, old eyes through the mirror. Sycamore could not turn away, suddenly feeling like the child he once was. Ashamed and apologetic.

"Desmond," Raymond began. "Those we love that have passed will never return. We never forget them. We never stop loving them either. But I doubt the dead would want you to stop your time and stand still for them. So for us who are left behind, they wish us to live. And love. For their sake as well as your own."

The lights changed once more and again, the car moved in silence.

"His daughter certainly gave you her blessings." The old valet said, cheerfully. "Surely that must count."

Sycamore smiled lopsidedly. "I'm... not quite certain to be honest."

He took out the gold pocketwatch from where he hid it, fingers touching its cool surface, tracing the patterns. Claire Folley had good tastes and even though it was not made by her hands, he knew that she chose this gift with great care. Stachenscarfen's antique shop a bit hard to find between the other shops. He could only imagine how she scoured through several shops for the perfect present. And judging from how Layton took great care of it, it meant a lot.

It was the last present she ever gave him after all.

Sycamore looked up from the watch to the rear view mirror just as the car pulled up the front door.

"Raymond, I'll need my tools." He said.

Raymond who had seen the watch cradled in his hands as he stepped out of the car, smiled and bowed.

"As you wish."

He paused on a step, hesitating. Then glanced at his butler earnestly. He was more guardian than a butler though. More like family.

"Thank you, Raymond." He said. "Truly."

With a pleased smile, Raymond bowed. "It is always a pleasure, Master."

* * *

 

It was Ascot's loud, laughing voice that woke him. And the first thought that entered his mind as the fog slowly cleared from his mind and eyes was that he's probably going to wake up with some strange drawing on his face just like he did when they were still schoolboys, with his friend spending the night at his house.

The second thought that entered his mind was wondering what sort of drink he had to merit a hangover that horrible. His alcohol tolerance had gone up since he started attending parties as Ghishavel. He still didn't enjoy drinking though, he preferred his tea any day.

His throat was parched and he needed water or tea to ease the throbbing in his head. A dry cough escaped him which he tried to stop but failed miserably. Each cough brought forth more throbbing in his poor head. Almost as if someone was using a pneumatic drill on it.

"Hershel? Are you awake?"

He turned his head, sluggishly to the direction of the voice. Squinting his eyes at the sudden onslaught of light flooding from the open windows, he groaned pitifully as he rose to sit; the whole room suddenly fell silent.

"Whatever we drank last night, Randall." He croaked. "I swear I'll never try it again. I'll stick to tea, thank you very much."

Someone, he was sure it was Flora, sprang into action and handed him a cup of something warm. From the scent of it, it was his favorite cup of Earl Gray tea. He hummed in appreciation as thanks. The warm liquid was welcome and it eased the tension in his bones. Ascot watched as he drank it, his brow creased and a dour look on his countenance.

"I should hope so for everyone's sakes." Ascot remarked, grimly. "You've been asleep for almost two days."

He almost dropped his cup and coughed, the last mouthful of tea going in the wrong way. Flora patted his back while Asccot rescued the cup from his slack hands. Eyes wide in utter shock, he stared at his friend only to realize that he wasn't in his own room. He glanced around, his mind finally grasping that that he was in the hospital.

The walls were painted a pale blue hue and white drapes hung on the windows, gently fluttering in the breeze that entered. There was an IV needle stuck in the back of his hand. He wasn't even sure how he could've missed that. Flora worried her lip, very much concerned. She took his hand, the one without the needle, in hers. His hands were cold.

"Are you all right, father?" She asked, hesitantly.

Like a broken dam, memories played back in his mind's eye. But not everything. He remembered getting dressed and flirting with Bronev yet after that, he couldn't recall what came after. Even how he ended up in a hospital bed.

"W-what happened?" He asked.

"You were drugged." Emmy replied, gravely. "By Bronev." She added after a moment's hesitation.

Ascot gritted his teeth. "That no good son of a-!" He muttered. Cursing his name and shaking his fists at the memory. He shook his head and let out a loud sigh, plopping on the chair by the bed. "Good thing Desmond was there. Distracted him long enough for Emmy and her Yarder friends to get in." he paused. "I didn't know you worked in the Yard, Emmy."

Emmy grinned as she folded her arms on her chest. "Lots of things you don't know about me, Mr. Ascot. I serve as a liaison between the Professor and the Yard. Though, I have to admit, Clive was a surprise. I thought he was just some Targent thug out to get the Professor."

"Is everyone all right?" Layton asked, worried and turned to Flora. "You're unhurt, my dear?"

Flora smiled, gently patting his hands. "I'm well." She said. "I was just concerned. You haven't woken up and I thought..." She took a trembling breath then shook her head as she let it out. "But you're fine now. I'm just glad."

"My apologies, my girl. I truly am sorry." He whispered. He really was. "I would've spared you all this but because of my foolishness, you got caught up in it as well."

"You couldn't help yourself." Flora said, sagely. "It's just who you are. I wouldn't wish you to be any different."

Layton smiled, lopsidedly. "How is it that you've become so wise?"

Flora shook her head, smiling and overflowing with relief before she turned away to take the cup from Ascot's hands.

"Where is Leon Bronev?" Layton inquired.

Emmy brushed hair off her face then folded her arms on her bosom. "He's in a different hospital, handcuffed to the bed and watched twenty-four seven." She replied. "He'll be facing a whole lot of criminal charges once he's fit to stand in the docks. Murder and abduction being the least of them."

"Who would've thought Desmond was related to Bronev." Ascot wondered, almost carelessly to the room. "Desmond might act like an arse sometimes, but he's the good kind."

Layton felt the blood freeze in his veins. His fists closed tightly around the covers of the bed. He remembered seeing him as he swept into the ballroom, confronting Bronev. It was what he was trying to avoid. He didn't want Sycamore to be caught up in it anymore.

"W-where is Desmond? Is he all right?" He asked, hoarsely.

"How much do you remember?" Emmy asked.

He shook his head. "I confess, not much." He replied. "I remember Desmond entering the ballroom and-"

Another memory flashed in his mind. Sycamore on the floor by his feet, fighting off Bronev as he squeezed his throat, tearing the breath and life out of the man. Then his panic as he willed himself to move his leg and drop it on the older man's back, albeit weakly to make Bronev let go of Sycamore's throat.

He took deep breaths, striving to keep the slow building dread from showing in his face. The look that Sycamore gave him before he passed out was apologetic and full of sorrow, resigned to his fate. He was prepared to die.

"Hershel?"

Layton glanced at Ascot. While he tried not to show it, there was clearly distress in his eyes and Ascot was no fool. He knew what was causing it.

"Y-yes?"

Ascot smiled. "He's okay, Hersh." He said. Then he shrugged. "He's just a bit busy. He's taken over your classes while you're here recovering." He paused, as he wiped his glasses clean with the edge of his shirt, chuckling. "He can't believe the amount of paperwork you've left to grade and has taken it upon himself to clear it before you get back."

"So you don't need to worry about him." Emmy added, smiling as she glanced at the door. "Had you woken up a few minutes ago, you would've seen him. He was just here. He promised to be back later."

"He was being strangled, Emmy." Layton remarked. "That's a cause for concern, is it not?" He snapped. It wasn't her fault and he really didn't think she warranted a sarcastic remark from him but the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Of course." She agreed. Thankfully, she understood that he really didn't mean to snap at her. "However he doesn't want you to trouble yourself over him." Emmy replied then smiled. "Oh, the both of you, going around in circles. It's almost laughable."

Ascot grinned. "It is, isn't it?" He agreed, cheerfully.

Layton sighed and ran his palm on his face. "I'm relieved that you find my predicament entertaining."

There was no real heat in his comment. And he was slightly comforted to hear that Sycamore was doing well. However, no amount of reassurances could really ease the anxiousness that continued to claw in his chest until he saw with his own eyes, that the other man was well.

He leaned back against the pillows of the hospital bed and listened to the cheerful chattering of his friends, allowing the sounds to wash over him. He laughed at their antics as they conversed, Ascot being so animated exaggerated in his usual fashion, gesturing with his hands and arms, Emmy making a wry comment every now and then and Flora laughing at both of them until tears fell from her eyes.

He took quick look once more around the room. There were get well cards the other table by the window and balloons too. A couple of puzzles from well wishers. A bouquet of lavender flowers in the vase. Then noticed the folded red suit on his bedside table. He stretched out an arm to get his waistcoat.

But stopped.

"Have any of you seen my pocketwatch?" He suddenly cut in.

"It's in your waistcoat pocket." Flora answered.

"I see."

Something about the tone of his voice made her look up, startled. He noticed it immediately and smiled at her, placing the waistcoat back to where he took it and leaning against the pillows once more.

"It's not there is it?" Flora asked, fearfully.

"No need to concern yourself, my dear." He reassured her. "I'm fairly certain it's just in the hotel. I'll ask the Duke if his men had seen it once I'm out and about again."

"O-okay..."

He missed it. The cool smooth surface and its weight in his hands. He wanted to believe that it wasn't lost. Claire's pocketwatch wasn't gone. But the thought would not take root. And for some reason, missing it, also reminded him of Sycamore's absence. The dread in his heart doubled tenfold. He was not a superstitious man by any means. Far from it, really. But his missing pocketwatch felt like an omen in itself. He closed his eyes, feeling his body yearn for the respite it so dearly craved. The stress finally caught up with him.

_I'll ask once I'm well again._

Flora had not the heart to tell him that it would never be found in the hotel.

* * *

 

"You can go in now, Professor Sycamore."

Sycamore, glanced up from the pocketwatch in his black-gloved hand, Layton's pocketwatch which was now ticking, fixed and polished. He rose from his seat and thanked Inspector Chellmey before entering the room. There was another officer inside who tipped his hat at him when he appeared. He wanted some privacy but that was not possible. After all, the man who lay on the hospital bed was no ordinary criminal.

Leon Bronev sat, his hand handcuffed to the bed and watched him with oddly calm eyes.

"So you came." Bronev observed. "I didn't think you would."

"You called for me." Sycamore stated, keeping his distance. "I was curious."

Bronev's lips quirked, though it was without humour.

"So it's come to this." Bronev remarked. "I had never expected it to end this way. All because of one man." He paused. "You are well?"

"As well as I can be." He replied, simply.

He tried not to fidget as Bronev turned his full attention on him. Gaze roaming to the damage he had caused before looking at the windows that would never open. Not anymore.

"How is Layton?"

"Why do you care?" He asked back. "You tried to kill him."

There was nothing baleful with the way the other man stared at him. In the light of the afternoon sun, Sycamore suddenly realized how old and tired he seemed. There were more wrinkles on his face and his hands were bony. Almost skeletal. He appeared to be like a man who had finally given up living. It was sadly pitiful. With the madness gone from his eyes, he looked lost.

"I did." He said then coughed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes."

Bronev looked down at his hands. "I loved Rachel."

"You killed her." He stated, not coldly.

"I did." He said once more. "I loved her and yet I killed her still." His eyes went wide in slow building shock as if he just realized what he had done. "I loved her and yet I put my hands around her neck and squeezed." He took a deep shuddering breath. "What have I been reduced to?"

"A murderer."

"I would have married her, you know." Bronev said. "But she took you away. You were my heir, Targent was yours when I was gone. It must be punished."

"She saw what Targent was doing to us. She wanted to protect us." Sycamore explained, trying to keep his voice low but his hands were shaking with fury. _Did he truly not understand?!_

"Once we found the Azran Legacies we could've-!"

Sycamore scowled. "Do you honestly believe _that?"_ He asked, stunned. "There were many things you could've done! You could've run away with her. With us. She gave you a choice." He said, bitterly. "And yet you chose Targent!"

Each word struck a chord in the older man and granted him no quarter. All the accusations washing over him like waves. The horror of what he had done, once more in the forefront of his mind. His skeletal hands shook with the weight of the burden he was suddenly aware he carried. They felt as if they were holding Rachel's neck in his hands once more.

"What kind of life would that had been?" Bronev demanded, desperately. "You don't understand! They would've chased us all over the world! _I had no choice!_ " He sobbed.

Sycamore had no answer to that. In the beginning, as a child, the choice was made for him. But as time went on and he grew to adulthood, his turn finally came. He was placed in the same position. He chose, and paid the price. The burden of the deaths of his family and of Claire was his. Because he chose what his Uncle did not.

Sometimes he wondered if it had been worth it. Only the certainty that his wife didn't want anything to do with Targent kept him from truly regretting it.

Bronev seemed to gather himself up. He made a wretched sight and Sycamore saw the same desolate look that gazed back at him those dark times. Once upon a time, Leon Bronev was a good man. Wistfully, Sycamore wondered where had that good man gone?

"Do you love him?" He asked.

"Yes." Of that Sycamore was quite certain. His hand tightened around the pocketwatch he held in his hand.

Leon Bronev hummed. "Very well." He said. "Take him away and keep him safe. Do what I could not."

"I fully intend to, if he will have me." He said.

"Hm. Then we are done."

Leon Bronev turned away. Sycamore was clearly dismissed and the younger man watched him for a few more moments before turning away. His uncle would not last much longer in this world. He could not forgive this man who took many precious people yet in the far recesses of his mind, he also hoped that perhaps the old man could join Rachel one day.

For like he, he also loved. Twisted though Bronev's love turned out to be.

"Desmond."

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

"Lay flowers on her grave for me." He said.

"I will cover it with red roses." Sycamore agreed and stepped out.

"She loved red roses... They were her favorite." He heard him murmuring, wistfully, before the door closed behind him.

Outside, Inspector Chellmey shot him an apologetic look.

"Sorry to call you out here, Professor Sycamore. But he was insistent." He said. "Wouldn't talk unless he saw you first."

Sycamore nodded. "I know." He replied. "I think you'll have to ask him everything you can. And soon." He started to walk away.

"The doctors say he'll live." He remarked.

"No, he won't." He said as his steps took him farther and farther away from the room. "Not for very long anyway."

* * *

 

Raymond opened the car door for him as soon as he stepped out of the hospital's front doors. He didn't need to tell Raymond they were to go next. Safely within the car, Sycamore once more examined the pocketwatch that sat comfortably in the palm of his hand.

Last time he saw Layton, he was still asleep. He was concerned, of course and had gone for a brief visit before going to work that morning, bringing with him some breakfast for him and the ladies. He could've asked for a few days off. The three of them were excused from working. After what had happened, Dean Delmona was more than a little surprised to see him working. But he couldn't sit still. Instead, he asked to take over Layton's load while he recovered.

It had only been two days since.

He turned up his overcoat's collar, self-consciously, more to shield his neck from prying eyes than the cold, once he stepped out the car. He didn't want them to see the strangle bruises on his neck. The marks had turned purple-bluish. He didn't want Layton to see it.

 _It wouldn't do to be seen so unkempt._ His daughter had said. This counted as that, did it not?

"Doubting yourself again, Master?" Raymond asked.

"No." He said, determined. "I will present my suit this time, properly. So my intentions are clear."

"And then?"

"Then..." He crossed his legs and leaned back. "It's up to Layton whether he wants me or not." He paused. "I will not begrudge him if he refuses."

"You do not seem very confident."

Sycamore laughed wryly. "Raymond, I'll be frank. I'm absolutely _terrified_." he confessed.

Raymond hummed, cheerfully at that.

* * *

 

Layton's mood did not improve after a short nap. Despite reassurances that Sycamore was all right and that he was well, he could not help the dread that seeped into his skin. It was not the first time that day that he entertained the thought of escaping though the open window ( _Our room's on the third floor._ His mind remarked.) and going to the university even if he was just in his pyjamas, ( _Scandal!_ His mind supplied again unhelpfully.) just to be certain the other man really was all right.

He trusted Ascot but sometimes, seeing was believing.

He did his best not to reveal it. He was a gentleman after all but as the day wore on, his disquiet seemed to show on his countenance. Ascot and Emmy did their best to fill the silent gaps between conversations, trying to cheer him up.

"Hey, Hersh." Ascot began. "Look, it'll be fine. We'll find it. I'll even drag Desmond in to help!"

The door opened, quietly.

"I don't think dragging me anywhere is going to work, Ascot."

Everyone in the room turned, swiftly at the sound of the voice. Layton couldn't stop the relieved smile that appeared on his face when Sycamore stepped through the door, holding a large paperbag. The scent of fish and chips reached their noses. Ascot's mouth watered.

 _"Desmond!!! You're a godsend!!"_  He shouted, jumping up and down like an excited schoolboy and threw his arms around the man.

Sycamore scowled. "Ascot, calm yourself." He said. "This is hardly appropriate."

"But you have food!" He declared.

Sycamore raised his eyebrows. "You sound like you haven't eaten in days." He remarked, skeptical then smirked. "Do you have a bottomless pit for a stomach?"

Ascot looked affronted. Hands akimbo he glared at Sycamore. "You're cruel! That isn't for us?"

Sycamore crossed the room to Layton's bedside. "Not for you. This is for Layton and the ladies. I didn't even know you were still here." He shot back. "Can you believe the long lines to that new fish and chip place? It goes twice around the block!" He complained.

Ascot perked up even more at that. "Oooh!! You got the good ones!" Then very sweetly: "May I have some? Please?"

"I could be..." He rubbed his chin with a finger, smirking. "persuaded to share."

Emmy took his burden from him, laughing quietly at Ascot's desperation. He looked a bit like he was trying to solve a puzzle with that determined look on his face.

"Name your price!"

The grin that stretched on Sycamore's lips made him swallow hard. It did not bode well. This was payback for all those times he teased the other man, he was certain of it! Were the fish and chips from that shop worth it? He inhaled the scent which Emmy so helpfully and not very discreetly blew at his face. It was most positively and utterly _divine!_ Yes, it was very worth it! He whined, laying half his body across Layton's bed, by his feet. He flopped his arms about like a fish, making Flora giggle.

"Help me, Hersh~!" He whined, pitifully. "I can't take it anymore!"

Sycamore huffed, settling on the chair, Ascot vacated. "Oh, that's a low blow, coming from you, Ascot." He teased. "Asking an injured man for help. I thought better of you." He clicked his tongue shaking his head in disapproval.

Ascot groaned looked up from where he lay at Layton, shooting him his most pathetic, wretched 'I want it' look he could muster. Sycamore shook his head.

"Can you believe this?" He addressed no one in particular. "Randall Ascot, undone by fish and chips?" He pulled at his gloves' fingertips to release his hands from them and tucking them into his overcoat's pocket.

"But they're good ones, you have to admit!" Ascot stated, cheerfully.

Long suffering, Sycamore sighed, heavily. "Oh, fine. You can have my share."

Ascot gleefully stood, watching Emmy as she brought four carton boxes. It was quite warm. Steam puffed out when one of the boxes were opened. Layton was quietly laughing at their antics. It was obviously done to get his spirits up and it lifted his mood up, greatly. Especially now that the man he wanted to see sat by his bedside with a small smile.

Sycamore sat close enough that if Layton wished, he could lift his hand to rest his hand on his cheek. To assure himself that he truly was here alive and safe. Sycamore noticed his staring and turned to him, with that tender look his face. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind Layton's ear.

"Hullo, Hershel." Sycamore greeted.

Layton smiled at him, but his lips were trembling. The warmth of Sycamore's touch remained.

"Hello..."

Sycamore withdrew. "Well then, are you famished? Shall we eat?" He asked. "It's not much though but I'll take you out for dinner when the doctors clear you."

Layton nodded, weakly. Emmy handed him his share of the food, placing it on the bed table for Layton to be able to eat. Layton was not particularly hungry though. He wondered if it was because he was in the hospital. But he thought he could eat a few bites. It was a gift after all. He took a bite, tasting it and found that he liked it a great deal. He glanced around his friends who also shared his opinion of the food. Only Sycamore didn't eat, content to watch them instead.

Layton found his mood lifting as the hours passed. While they ate, he regaled them with stories of whatever shenanigans the students and other professors were up to the past two days. He told them that Dean Delmona had lost his toupee and that Dr. Shrader's latest research had received a sudden boost with the discovery of the Ambrosia Stone, Triton surveyed. It sent them in a laughing fit as he described his encounter with young miss Rosetta Stone who was bold enough to make advances at him and him trying his best to escape her.

"Only two days and you've gotten yourself a handful!" Ascot guffawed. "Maybe she fancies you."

Sycamore huffed and turned his nose up in the air.

"If that it so, then I must decline. I don't feel the same way about her." He stated, haughtily.

"Who do you fancy then?"

The question caught everyone off guard, especially since the query came from Layton himself. While Layton was aware of Sycamore's feelings before, some part of him still wondered if it had changed after their ordeal. Feelings and then acting on them were two entirely different matters after all. He cared for Sycamore. It was true. However some part of him still felt some hesitance. But he wasn't quite certain what would cause it. Layton didn't look up from his food. Opting instead to continue eating, savouring each bite. He glanced up for a moment and gave Sycamore a smile, almost reminiscent of Ghishavel's Cheshire cat smile but without the mask, it was all Layton. Sycamore couldn't decide if it was dangerous or alluring or both.

Sycamore smirked. "Must you ask that still?" He answered with his own inquiry.

He raised his eyebrows. "Would I, if I knew?"

Sycamore clicked his tongue, grinning. "So curious are you? Can you not guess?"

Layton picked at his food. "Come now, Desmond." He said. Sycamore was delighted to hear his name from the man's lips, turning his grin more smug. "I would never ask or take a guess if I was certain of the answer." He glanced at him sideways. "So I ask again, who do you fancy?"

Sycamore's fingers tightened around the watch in his pocket.

"You, of course." He answered, truthfully. "Else I would not be trying to get into your good graces, hoping that my suit would be favourable."

Layton's face flushed a faint pink at that, refusing, once more, to look at the other man. Ascot couldn't stop the full blown grin on his face, Flora was blushing and Emmy shook her head, hiding her laughter behind a hand.

"I can't decide if you're only teasing me or just bold." Layton remarked.

Sycamore raised his hands in surrender. "No teasing this time, I assure you." He said. "I'm telling the truth. I know you value the truth more than anything else so I shall be honest."

He took a breath and let out an exhale.

"I am very much in love with you." He said, seriously. "And if it pleases you, I will court you, properly this time."

Layton's mouth hung open for a few moments, very ungentlemanly of him without a doubt, but the words, while he had heard them before, was still unexpected. For this time, Sycamore said it, and not accidentally like before. He felt his face warm up. Then he scowled. To court him? Good gracious! What a preposterous idea!

"Desmond, I'm a man."

"I'm well aware of that." He replied. "Physically, you lack the soft bits most women and some men have." Gesturing to his form.

"Desmond!" Scandalized. Someone, Layton was sure was Ascot, was snickering.

"What would you have me do then?" Sycamore asked, curiously. "Just roll you in the hay and be done with it?"

"No need to be so crass about it."

"It's not what I want, Hershel." Sycamore said. "I'm looking for a more long-term relationship. Should it bother me that you and I are men? Frankly, I don't give a damn whether you're male or female. You are you. I fell in love with you. If you suddenly turned into a woman the next day, nothing would change." he paused. "Except you'll have the soft bits." he added to lift the suddenly heaviness of the conversation.

He smiled at him kindly. "We don't live in the Victorian era, Hershel. We won't get thrown to the gallows for that."

Layton looked away. "It doesn't bother you that I was... Well... Ghishavel?" He asked, hesitantly. For that was what was bothering him, more than anything else.

"Does it bother you that I am a Bronev?" He asked back.

Layton was silent.

"I will no longer hide." Sycamore said. "Today, I was told to take you away and keep you safe, to do what they could not do for someone they loved. Another told me to persevere. I will confess that I have no idea how to do all that, except that I would."

He paused.

"All I ask is for a chance." He said, earnestly.

"If it doesn't work out?" Layton asked, softly.

"Then we'll part as friends if you so wish it." He replied. "I will not begrudge you for that."

Sycamore smiled at him, once more in that tender way that Layton had started to search for since it first fell on him. There was a warmth in his chest and he felt like he might burst. He opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ to the man that so sincerely confessed to him. But they were interrupted by a knock on the door. And his doctor and nurse appeared to check on him, stopping whatever it was he was supposed to say.

The room fell silent as the doctor and nurses checked his temperature and his blood pressure. The only things the broke the silence was when they asked how he was and how he was feeling. Sycamore listened with interest as the doctor explained what the other man would be experiencing in the coming days. And when they left, Sycamore also rose.

"Where are you going?" Ascot suddenly asked. Even Layton looked surprised.

Sycamore pulled at the ends of his gloves to put them on. Distracted for a moment, Layton realized that Sycamore was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

"Back to Gressenheller." He replied. "I have one afternoon class left to teach."

"Oh."

Sycamore turned to Layton smiling.

"I'll visit again after that if you don't mind." He said.

"Of course."

He was about to leave but stopped suddenly recalling what he almost forgot. He fumbled for an item in his pocket then took it out.

"I have something for you."

"What-?"

Sycamore took his hand, the one without the IV, and placed the pocketwatch in his palm. Layton gasped, once more feeling the familiar cool weight of the item. He thought he would never see it again.

"I'm sorry." Sycamore said, softly. "I dropped it while we were in the waiting room and I think I broke it." He paused. "It stopped ticking so I took it home to repair it. It's working perfectly fine now. I wound it up and now it's synced to the clock in Gressenheller."

"What-?" He asked dumbfounded.

He pressed the top button and the top lid opened automatically. And sure enough the hands on the clock's face moved, the gears within it turned seamlessly with a gentle humming that only well oiled machines had.

"You'll forgive me for my clumsiness, I hope?"

Layton looked wildly, up just in time to see the ends of Sycamore's overcoat disappear as the door closed behind him.

"Hersh?!" Ascot called, eyes wide. "Is it really...?"

Layton's hands trembled as everyone crowded around his bed to see with their own eyes, the repaired pocketwatch. With the movement of the second hand, came a collective gasp. Ascot's eyes couldn't possibly grow any larger at the sight. And the grin on Emmy's mouth couldn't get any wider.

"I-it's really moving!" Flora exclaimed, excitedly.

"It really is..." Layton whispered in awe.

The hands continued to move reassuringly. The sound of the ticking clock and soft humming of the gears comforted him. It reminded him that once upon a time, Claire's heart beat just like that. For a few more moments, he wondered, not for the first time, if Claire wanted him to do something and move on.

* * *

 

Sycamore contemplated whether or not it was a good thing to visit so soon. His last class ended rather late with him trying to finish the rest of the paperwork needed to be done while doing his best to help a student with his papers. He didn't need to stay longer. He promised that he would call on Layton again later however, some part of him was once more starting to lose his nerve.

The pocketwatch was Layton's most prized possession. The last remnant of Claire. If his repairs on it were unsatisfactory or it suddenly broke down again, it would be his fault. And he wasn't certain if Layton would ever forgive him if it came to that.

The velvet box that contained the cufflinks he bought for Layton sat on his desk. If everything went well, perhaps he would be able to present this gift to him. He turned to the picture of his family on sitting on his desk and picked it up, a sad smile on his countenance as he gently touched the glass; the only thing separating his fingertips and the photograph within. In it, a smiling raven haired lady with bright green eyes stood beside a beaming little girl waving to the camera.

"Dearest, is this really all right?" He whispered, calling the lady with that fond nickname. "Would it be all right with you if I love him too?"

A knock on the door was the only signal he had before Raymond opened the door and stepped in. He bowed to his master.

"Master, if you do not leave now, you would not make it within visiting hours."

He placed the photograph back on the desk and straightened his tie.

"Of course."

He swept out the office. Raymond glanced around the room one last time before bowing to the photograph and closing the door behind him, following Sycamore across the hallway.

* * *

 

"Enter." Layton called after a knock.

Sycamore entered the dimly lit room. There was a small night light in the farther corner. It wasn't advisable but the moon was full that night and it cast a pale light in the room. And Layton sat, with the pocketwatch still cradled in his hands, playing with its golden chain with his elegant fingers. Sycamore had to shake himself else he'd get distracted by his fingers.

"Were you resting?" Sycamore asked. Not the best intro but it was the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth. "I can return another day if you are."

Layton shook his head. "No. I just turned the lights down a bit."

Sycamore took off his overcoat, hanging it on the coat stand by the door. With the room, this dimly lit, he hoped Layton wouldn't see the strangle bruises on his neck. A moment later, he sat down on the chair by his bedside.

"Where are Miss Reinhold and the others?" He asked, curious.

"I sent them home two hours ago." Layton replied. "After what happened, they needed to sleep on a proper bed. They've looked after me enough."

"Hmm. If I'd known, I'd come by earlier instead of dallying with paperwork." He remarked. "I wouldn't want you to be alone, especially after all _that._ "

Layton gave him a faint smile. "Is that what we're calling it now?" He asked.

"I suppose so." He answered, shrugging his shoulders. He paused. "While I'm relieved that everything went well, it's still not something I'd like to recall with fondness, you understand."

"Yes."

"You were almost killed." Sycamore said, grimly.

"You as well." Layton said back. "Ascot told me what you did. At least the ones I don't remember. You had a wager with Bronev." He frowned. "That was dangerous."

"It was." Sycamore agreed. "But it needed to be done."

"If you had failed?"

Sycamore shrugged. "Then I would've taken you away with me, put you and your daughter somewhere safe and finished Targent off myself."

"There's no safe place from Targent, you know that." Layton said wistfully.

"True." Sycamore agreed much to his sorrow. "But it would've given me enough time to at least take them down. I wouldn't let them touch you. We've already lost far too much."

Layton hummed in accord. Then looked up at Sycamore. The moonlight filtered in from the window, giving him a view of the bruises on his neck. He gasped at the damage and lifted his hand up to touch it. From where he sat, the bruises looked like an ugly butterfly. The markings of Bronev's hands imprinted on skin.

Sycamore immediately regretted taking off his overcoat. Especially when he saw the sad look on Layton's face. He didn't move away though. Layton gently touched the bruises with a hand, fingers caressing the abused skin, trailing warmth at their wake. It made the other man shiver. But not from pain.

"Are you all right?" Layton whispered.

"I'm fine." He said.

"You had the doctors take a look at it?" He leaned against his pillows once more.

"Yes. They had me go through some tests to be certain nothing was broken." A wry smile. "My voice is a little hoarse. But that could be because I kept shouting at one of your students to stop. He stood on the table in the middle of class and belted out a power ballad out of nowhere." He winced at the memory. "It wasn't even good."

Layton chuckled. "The boy with the long, wild hair and sunglasses?"

"Yes."

"That would be Sammy Thunder." He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's been trying to woo Rosetta for the past few weeks." He rubbed his forehead, wearily. "Let's just say it's not working out well for the young man."

"I doubt it would. He doesn't exactly have the best singing voice." He added, irritably.

"You're being kind." A slight quirk on his lips.

Sycamore's eyebrow raised high. "Kind?" Sycamore huffed. "I almost threw chalk at him! But someone hurled a book instead, knocking him and his guitar off the table." He shrugged. "Luckily he wasn't injured too badly and you will be pleased to know that despite the almost riot it caused, I was able to stop it."

Layton laughed quietly. His shoulders shook with mirth. Sycamore was pleased. This was what he wanted to see. Layton, smiling and laughing. At least he no longer looked sickly pale. Something glinted and he glanced down at the pocketwatch, its lid open so he could see the hands as it moved.

"Is it working well?" He asked.

Layton stopped laughing and twisted pocketwatch's golden chain around his fingers.

"Yes." He said, smiling. "How were you able to repair it?"

Sycamore frowned in thought. "There was an oddly shaped cog inside." He replied.

"Did you... replace it?" Layton asked, slowly.

"Not quite. It couldn't be removed, however, I had to attach another much smaller cog to make it work." He replied. Then regretfully: "My apologies. I had a feeling you wouldn't want any of its parts changed. I'm truly sorry."

"It's all right." He said, smiling as his lips trembled. "That you got it to work at all is a miracle in itself."

Sycamore's eyebrows rose high, surprised. Layton saw this and chuckled then shook his head.

"Oh, Desmond." He began in that affectionate tone. "When Claire gave it to me before she died, never once did its hands move."

"Wha-?" He frowned. "B-but you were always looking at it, checking for time."

Layton shook his head. "Force of habit, I suppose." He explained. "After her death, I kept glancing at the watch. You understand why, I'm certain. And I've done it so many times, it became a habit I couldn't break out off."

Layton glanced out the window.

"I took it to every watchmaker I could find in London and outside when I travelled. I kept some vain hope that maybe if the hands moved, I'd find her safe and well again." He sighed. "It was all futile. We both know that nothing can bring the dead back to life."

"Is that what you wish for? For her to return?" Sycamore asked.

"Sometimes." He answered, honestly. "Whenever I passed by the places we used to go, I miss her. Whenever, I do things that remind me of her. And those nights when it's cold... nothing could ever substitute for her scent and warmth and her laughter."

He sighed.

"I wanted it all back. I wanted her to be alive again."

"I'm sorry." Sycamore whispered. He bowed his head.

"It's not your fault." Layton said. When Sycamore didn't say anything, Layton turned to him, scowling. "No matter what anyone says, it's not your fault." He said, forcefully. "If you had accepted Bronev's invitation, who knows what else would've happened? The man was mad with grief."

"You know about Rachel then?"

"I know that he loved her with everything he had." Layton said. "And that he killed her himself for disobeying the organization's rules and taking you away." He paused. "It doesn't excuse everything he's done; all the killing and abductions... But I do understand that he loved her."

The gold chain twisted around his fingers like a snake.

"I don't want to admit it, and I'm ashamed of it, but I loathe Leon Bronev. He was the one who took the only woman I ever loved."

"I understand it well."

They sat in silence. Outside the room, the sounds of doctors and nurses' footfalls echoed across the hallways. Announcements on the speakers and whispered gossips or discussions amongst the nurses in the station.

"Earlier," Layton began. "you asked me if it bothered me that you are a Bronev."

Sycamore nodded.

"You're not a Bronev." Sycamore opened his mouth but Layton stopped him with a finger on his lips to hush him. "You may share blood with him, however, you and other people shaped who you are today. Rachel, your wife, your daughter, Raymond... So, I know, that I..."

He shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Does this mean, I may continue to court you?"

"No."

Sycamore's face fell.

"I see..." Very quietly.

Layton suddenly appalled at the misunderstanding, shook his head. "No. You don't understand... I-!"

The other man shook his head, interrupting whatever it was the Layton wanted to say. "You don't need to explain. It's all right."

Layton sighed, frustrated. He was terrible at this. Words only got in the way. And if he opened his mouth again, he was quite certain it would be misunderstood. Instead, he allowed his body to do the talking. Just as he had done before, he grasped Sycamore's tie and pulled, forcefully, making the other man gasp at the suddenness, and sent him sprawling on the bed. He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced immediately by Layton's lips on his.

It was far from being romantic.

Far from the first kiss they shared in that long ago party.

Their noses bumped and one of them grunted in pain at the impact. The wound on Sycamore's lip, opened up again and the metallic taste of blood seeped into their kiss. Sycamore grasped Layton's face with both hands, unwilling to let go until both needed air back into their lungs.

"You won me."

"Huh?" Sycamore, dumbfounded.

"During your game with Bronev. You won me."

When it did not seem to register, Layton sighed.

"I mean..." Layton began, breathlessly. "You don't have to court me. Not anymore. Be my lover and I'll be yours."

"And Claire?"

"I will always love her as you would always love your wife." He whispered, Sycamore laid his forehead on Layton's. "I'm not trying to replace your wife and you're not replacing Claire. But just because that's how it is doesn't mean we couldn't love again. Or that I love you less. I'm not searching for a replacement for Claire." He repeated.

Sycamore closed his eyes, tightly. The words that Raymond spoke, rang true it seemed. That man could read people better than anyone he ever knew.

"I love you." Layton said, fervently.

Sycamore' breath hitched. The words he wanted to hear for quite a while, finally coming out of the other man's lips. He felt like he might just burst from joy. 

"I want you. I'm quite certain of that now. Especially after all this..." He gestured vaguely. Then very hesitantly: "Would that... be all right?"

Sycamore let out a half-hysterical, breathless laugh, settling on the bed beside Layton. Layton laid his head on Sycamore's shoulder. His thoughts seemed to be going several places at once. He was quite prepared for a long courtship and for rejection, steeling his heart to it, really. But _this_ was quite, _quite_ sudden. And also a very welcome surprise.

"Of course." He replied, incredulous. "Must you still ask _that?"_

Layton huffed. "I wanted to be certain." He paused. "I was rather daft, wasn't I?" He asked.

"You were." Sycamore agreed. At Layton's slightly affronted look  he added cheerfully: "But then so was I." Then he shook his head in disbelief. "I can scarcely believe this. Ascot's going to have a field day once he finds out."

"You can always challenge him to a duel if it gets too much." He teased.

Sycamore groaned. "There's still the matter of our pending little competition." He muttered then with a leer: "Does this mean you'll be cheering for me then?" He asked.

"Am I not supposed to have a match with you after Randall?"

"Yes but before that?"

"I could be... persuaded." He replied with the Cheshire cat grin.

"And that boon?"

"You want your boon now?" Incredulous. "My word, Professor Sycamore! How impatient you are!" He remarked, chuckling.

"Am I now?"

There were things he wanted to do to persuade the other man to bestow him that promised favour. Still, such matters shouldn't be done in a place like the hospital. Most certainly not while recovering from an experience as what they went through but then, Sycamore mused, it would be recovery as well, wouldn't it? There was nothing wrong with that. At the moment though he was quite happy. The delight within his chest overflowed. His feelings shouted for joy. 

 _Finally!_ He thought.  _Finally..._

The pocketwatch's gears hummed, silently.

Its hands moved with that comforting sound that mimicked the beating of hearts.

 

* * *

**END**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. The part about being in the hospital for those sorts of injuries probably aren't like that. (They might have to be admitted to the ICU after the emergency room or something.) I tried to ask my doctor brother about that but he had to go to work and then out of town to another hospital for a couple of weeks so I couldn't get the answer. Please don't be angry.
> 
> And thus, my tale ends. *bows* I hope it was all right. Thank you for being patient and reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was all right. If there are grammatical/typo errors please don't hesitate to point it out. I can't flirt, so I'm not sure if this was fine. This AU, so it's all just fun. I'm not sure where this one is going either... I'll just go with the flow.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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